


Diminished Responsibility Isn't Just a State of Mind

by snack_size



Series: Common Law [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Friendship, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, PTSD - Steve and Clint, Past Brainwashing, Recovery, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snack_size/pseuds/snack_size
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately following events in Contractually Obligated, At Least Out of Uniform, Natasha and Steve go to Washington D.C. to investigate and try and capture what they believe to be the latest iteration of the Winter Soldier. Clint, still recovering from his injuries, remains in New York in Avengers Tower. Clint and Steve's relationship is tested when Natasha and Steve successfully bring the Winter Soldier back to SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Seems I couldn't stay away from these two for too long - this one just kept nagging at me (I always had planned this sequel). This is all going to be in Clint's POV, rather than alternating POVs. I don't want to get into Steve's head for a significant fic until after I've seen the movie.
> 
> As for continuity - it's canon complaint through Avengers, since Contractually Obligated was written before IM3, though I made vague reference to spoilers known at the time and I'm going to keep the two stories consistent rather than shoe-horn in things from IM3 that won't fit. I've read all the Captain America 2 spoilers I can get my hands on but I'm going to try and keep things broad. Just, be warned. This will focus on the aftermath, anyway. Which means this is going to be a lot less fluffy and cute than the first fic.

“So you’re going to take one?” Clint asked, thumbing through the catalogue for Columbia - only the best for Captain America, after all.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, stretched out on the bed, perfect, naked, the lines of every muscle on his body delineated and defined. If Clint hadn’t just got fucked he would be tempted to roll over and begin the appreciation of every scrap of his body - but he still felt gelatinous. He had twisted his wrist a little bit, as well, and didn’t need to do anything where Steve might notice that. It was in the soft cast, but everyone was still treating him like his bones were hollow.

“What are you thinking?”

“History is kind of obvious,” Steve said. “Though there is an awful lot I’m interested in. I’m just worried I don’t know enough and would say something stupid. Bruce said I might like political science?”

“I think social sciences are a good choice,” Clint said. “But what about an art class? Or even art history?”

“Oh,” Steve replied. “I didn’t think about that.”

Clint furrowed his brow. “Why not?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m not really...I mean, I know you think my stuff is good, but these are people who have been-”

“Rogers, you’re ridiculous,” Clint said, and he rolled so he was closer to Steve and could give him a very chaste kiss on the cheek. He kissed his jaw, as well, because Clint was really appreciative of his jaw and how strong and chiseled it was. It was the jaw of a super hero. Clint really liked how you could see it in the pictures of Steve from before the serum - he was made for this.

“Well, I mean, I already took a few drawing classes,” Steve said. “But I’ve never been in a _college_ class.” His emphasis on the word was reverent, and so Clint nodded.

“Introduction to American Politics, then?” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Things sure are different with that, you know? Do you think I’ll look older than everyone else?”

Clint narrowed his eyes at Steve. “You don’t look eighteen, but I’m sure they have plenty of non-traditional students.”

“That was what you did?”

“Yeah - said I was an Army vet. Former Ranger. No one fucked with me.” Clint smiled, slightly. It had taken years to get all his credits for that degree, but he had done it. “When I was done, I wasn’t able to make the graduation, I was on an op,” he said, because there was no reason to keep it to himself, “But when I came back Fury called me into his office and sort of thrust this package at me wrapped in newsprint, and it was this really nice oak frame for my diploma.”

“Fury cares,” Steve said, an earnest statement of fact, and Clint laughed. Steve rolled over onto his side, slightly, and wrapped an arm around Clint so that his hand rested on his hip. “I love how you look, like this,” Steve murmured. His eyes met Clint’s then moved down his face to his chest, his cock. “Relaxed.”

“Well, I’ve got Captain America in bed with me, so I’m pretty sure that he could thwart most threats,” Clint said, and this led Steve to kiss him - almost chaste, at first, then he opened his lips and began to work them against Clint until Clint took the lead and began to use his tongue. Clint only pulled back when Steve sighed, content, and squeezed Clint’s hip.

“That’s why I keep the shield under the bed at all times,” Steve said. “Villains always try to strike when you’re vulnerable.”

Clint nodded, but the statement took him back to Loki - they hadn’t been vulnerable in the traditional sense, then, Clint was up high with orders to take out anything threatening and the facility was armed to the teeth. But they had neglected to think of the fact that they were doing research on an object of indeterminate capabilities, a portal to other parts of space, and what that really meant. _We didn’t know anything and we were just asking for it, really,_ Clint thought.

“Hey,” Steve said, and brushed some hair out of Clint’s face. “OK?”

“Just thinking,” Clint said. Steve nodded, nuzzled his head into Clint’s neck and inhaled.

“I know,” Steve said. “There’s really too much to think about.”

“Just wait until you start taking American Politics,” Clint replied. Steve quirked a sort of half smile at him.

“We can put a movie on, you know,” he said. Clint nodded. It was eleven, and he really should be thinking about going to bed, because he had physical therapy in the morning - but showing up tired and grouchy would annoy Garcia, because Clint would be unresponsive but still doing all of the exercises precisely and carefully.

“Make it so,” Clint said. Steve shook his head. “Add _Star Trek_ to your list.”

“Wait, is that the show that Bruce and Tony were arguing about the other day?” Steve asked.

Clint laughed as Steve sat up to browse through the movie selections - arguing was a polite phrase. They were close to brawling, but Tony was smart enough to realize that getting Banner so riled up he wanted to punch someone might not be the best choice. The topic had been _who is the best captain?_ Tony obviously went for Kirk, just as Bruce chose Picard. Clint had poked his head into the kitchen as he and Steve walked back from the gym.

You are both wrong! he said, It’s Sisko. He figured they might be able to agree on this, since he had characteristics of both their choices. Instead, the topic under discussion changed to whether Sisko could be considered a Captain since aside from the pilot episode _Deep Space 9_ never actually moved. Clint had taken Steve’s arm and carefully guided him away.

“How about _Finding Nemo?_ ” Steve asked. They’d been watching loads of Pixar films since Steve had discovered computer animation. “I mean, it’s not going to be like that one..?”

“God, no,” Clint said. They had watched _Up_ with Natasha the other day and she had shot each of them a blood chilling look when they noticed she was crying.

“Great,” Steve said. “JARVIS?”

“I’m currently loading the movie, Captain,” JARVIS replied, and Steve fluffed up the pillows behind him and then leaned into them.

* * *

“You two are saccharine, you know that?” Tony said in the kitchen the next morning. Clint had just stopped into get a coffee before he headed back to SHIELD.

“OK,” Clint said, putting some raw sugar into his mug. “Sorry?”

“You need conflict.” Clint pressed his lips together - the statement could be a glib one, except Tony and Pepper had certainly had their share of conflict over the years. “Conflict is healthy, you know, you get mad, you shout about the stupid things each other has done, you stew for a little, realize you love them despite whatever stupid thing they’ve done or their inherent flaws, and then the best part, make-up sex.”

“Well,” Clint said, because there was a certain wisdom in that.

Before he could say anything else, Pepper came in at the perfect moment - no surprise there. She was wearing one of her immaculate, geometric cut skirt suits and a pair of heels that made her a good three or four inches taller than Tony- although, another mystery, because she was usually two inches taller than him barefoot or in flats. Clint glanced at Tony’s work shoes and resisted the urge to snigger. _Lifts!_ he thought, and wasn’t surprised. Just mad he hadn’t noticed them before.

“I think that if you don’t have anything to fight about there’s no need to fight,” Pepper said. She poured her own cup of coffee and then kissed Tony on the cheek. Tony gave her a beaming smile.

“That’s saccharine,” Clint replied, screwed the lid on his mug, and went downstairs to get the bus over to SHIELD. He had to be sneaky about it, not going to the bus stop outside of the Tower but the next one down the street - Tony would through a shit fit if he found out and immediately shove Clint into some luxury car.

Clint liked the bus, though. He liked how, depending on the time of day, there were dramatically different groups of people on the same bus - young professionals in the morning, tourists in the afternoon, cool kids and people going out in the evenings alongside people coming home from work. He was pretty sure he could generally pinpoint people - it had been part of his training, after all, just like no one should be able to guess that he was a spy, a sniper, an agent of a top secret organization...he certainly didn’t look it, with his worn jeans, Pink Floyd t-shirt and combat boots. It was why Clint hated the rare occasions when he had to put that stupid black suit on.

He was quiet during physical therapy - he wasn’t in the mood to instigate anything with Garcia - until the end. “I don’t think we’re ready to do anything with your wrist yet,” he said, after Clint had done a few crunches and winced, his ribs still stinging with each motion.

“Really?” Clint asked. “I bet there are some pretty basic things that we can get started with.”

“I know you’re eager,” Garcia replied. “But you know, and I know, and I know that you know, that the only way you will get full range of motion back is if we do things properly.”

Clint grunted. He knew this - he was always compliant with his medical care and physical therapy, knew that he would fuck up his career if he didn’t take proper care of himself.

“That applies to your, uh, recreational activities as well,” Garcia added, and he smirked.

Clint reached out with his good hand and grabbed Garcia’s wrist, hard. He twisted slightly so that there would be a sharp, abrupt pain in the tendon. “Agent Barton!”

“You think you’re funny?” Clint asked, releasing his hand. “I don’t make comments about your ex-wive’s extracurriculars.”

Garcia’s face clouded - did he really think Clint hadn’t looked into everything about him the first time he was his physical therapist? Clint always did his due diligence.

“Not to mention,” Clint said, “SHIELD has a strict policy of tolerance for all races, creed, genders, sexual orientation...I’ve got all the time in the world for paperwork. And I learned from the best.”

Garcia looked at him, and then nodded. Everyone at SHIELD always joked that Agent Coulson’s super power had to be paperwork, and Clint had been a very willing protege when he found out how effective and efficient use of SHIELD’s various forms guaranteed that all of your operations ran smoothly and all of your needs were met.

“Understood,” Garcia said, and Clint smiled at him.

“I guess that’s all for today,” Clint said, and he stood. “Especially since I have some paperwork to do.” There were probably at least three forms needed for change in physical therapist.

* * *

Clint didn’t particularly like his SHIELD apartment, but it had been his for some time, he knew it, and he felt comfortable in it. It wasn’t, he realized, any more his than the apartment at Stark Tower would be, but he had earned this one through his employment - provided free, for some kind of tax reasons - not got it because some billionaire wanted his own home for fucked up superheroes.

“Clint?”

He turned and smiled. Natasha was the only person who would open his door without knocking first. She was wearing jeans and her SHIELD jacket. “Hello,” he said.

“I thought you might want to get something to eat,” she said. “Something not at the commissary.”

“Yes,” Clint replied. He hadn’t been looking forward to tonight’s dinner special, or eating alone.

They walked a few blocks to a little Thai place that Natasha really liked that made food that was spicy enough to make you sweat, if you wanted it. They also had fried corn fritters that were Natasha’s food kryptonite.

“Should we get two orders of the corn fritters?” Clint asked.

“You sure as hell aren’t getting mine,” Natasha replied, and she gave him a slight smile. Clint must have been feeling nostalgic today - he remembered the way she had looked at him the first time he had sat down across from her and had dinner. It had been just the two of them, and she’d been working with the SHIELD deprogramming team and had got far enough that they were positive that she wasn’t going to try and kill him with her plastic spoon.

I’m not going to fuck you, she said. Clint had nodded, told her he could work with that.

“Are you doing better?” she asked.

“You know I hate recovery,” Clint replied, after they placed their order. “Oh, you mean - yes, I think. I didn’t have to do any explaining, for why I wanted to come back to HQ.”

“You can only hide for so long,” Natasha replied.

“Is that why we’re doing this?” he asked. “Are you going to give me more dating advice?”

“You certainly need it,” Natasha said.

“I haven’t fucked things up too bad yet,” he replied. Natasha arched an eyebrow. “I figure...if I do, I’ll get haunted by Coulson.” He let the statement hang in the air, wanted to see how Natasha felt about him making a slight joke. She just gave him a little bit of a nod. “It would have been worse, with him around.”

“What would have?” Natasha asked.

“Lectures about relationships - how to handle his hero. Shovel talks. Between you and Fury, it’s been more than enough...meddling.”

“I’m not meddling, I’m merely attempting to offer advice,” Natasha replied. “Coulson would have meddled.” Clint looked down - he had to blink a few times - imagining the expression on Coulson’s face when Clint revealed he was with Steve. “You can only hide for so long,” Natasha said when Clint looked up.

“So important you’re repeating it,” Clint said, smiled as the waitress deposited their pints at their table.

“Steve strikes me as the sort of person who likes continuity,” Natasha said. “And it seems like he might want to...nest.”

“Thank you for not involving any bird puns,” Clint said. “You’re right, though.”

“Really?” Natasha asked.

“I have admitted that you are right many times,” Clint said. “There are many times when you are right.” He added the last line, mostly pre-emptively.

“I might be gone for awhile,” Natasha said. Clint had suspected something like this might be the real reason that she had asked if he wanted to get dinner. Neither of them really liked to go off on a long mission when the other was incapacitated.

“Undercover?” She shook her head, and Clint wondered why she would need to be gone for awhile then.

“They think that another Winter Soldier has been activated.”

Clint took the opportunity to suck down a good portion of his beer. “Great,” he said.

“Well?”

“I’m not going to be able to say anything to stop you,” he said. Natasha had been on the Winter Soldier project since she had become an agent with SHIELD - she had known one of them, when she had been trained to be one of the Soldier’s equally disposable female counterparts. It was something that concerned Clint, because if the organization was the same as it had been back then, they had a very good reason for wanting to get revenge against Natasha. And there was very good reason to believe they were the same - things had changed in Russia, but not that much.

“It won’t be like last time.”

“I was going to say that, though,” Clint said, as the fried corn cakes and spring rolls were laid in front of them. Her last attempt to track down that year’s Winter Soldier had left her with a collapsed lung, broken leg, and less one spleen.

“I’ll have better back up this time,” she added. “Last time I wasn’t hunting for him specifically, remember.” Clint nodded. He still didn’t like it, but he knew there was nothing he could do to stop her - this was some of the red in her ledger, the comrades she had left behind when she had got out, gone solo, gone evil. As though sticking around would have made any difference for them.

“They won’t send me out, but you will keep me updated,” Clint replied.

Natasha nodded, then picked up one of the fried corn patties and dipped it in the sweet and sour sauce. Clint followed her lead, but watched as she chewed. Something was making her nervous this time, and he couldn’t tell if it was just their recent easy op gone bad or something that she wasn’t telling him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Clint?”

Clint glanced up from his iPad - Steve had just taken a phone call on his SHIELD line, and now he looked concerned. “Yeah?”

“Natasha wants some help down in D.C.,” Steve said. “There’s been some complications - it’s more than just this Winter Soldier fella...my plane’s in four hours.”

Clint set his iPad aside and met Steve’s eyes. If there was anyone he would want beside Natasha, if Clint couldn’t be there, it would be Steve. “OK,” he said.

“OK?”

“You’ll have her back,” Clint said. Steve nodded, and looked relieved. “When can we leave?”

“Ah,” Steve said. “Director Fury wants you to remain in New York for the time being - he doesn’t want us to be to, ah, conspicuous a presence out there.” Steve handed Clint his phone.

“I’m sorry Agent Barton, but I can’t send you down there if you are not at 100%,” Director Fury said. “One, as I’m sure Captain Rogers told you, we can’t have too much of a presence and two, I am not risking a permanent injury to you because we both know you can’t stay in a merely support capacity.”

Clint sighed. He had expected this, but he had hoped it wouldn’t go all the way to the top. If it had been some other Level 7 Agent he just might have convinced them that their operation would be well served with him running reconascience on the side. “I would like to ask permission for periodic updates, sir,” Clint said. _They’re all I have left,_ he thought.

“Granted,” Director Fury said, and Clint exhaled. “I’d like you to stay at the Tower, for the time being. We don’t need Stark and Banner involved in this.”

“Understood,” Clint said.

“Agent Barton,” Fury replied. Clint closed the phone and handed it to Steve. He met his eyes - he was glad he wasn’t going to have to say it.

“You know about the program?” Clint asked, instead.

Steve shook his head. “I just got all the briefs-”

“Goes back to post-WWII,” Clint replied. “The Russians got their hands on some form of the super-soldier serum...probably something Zola left behind.” Steve pressed his lips together, then nodded. “They’ve been using it on operatives that serve as assassins - different guys, from ’46 onto today...all codenamed the Winter Soldier. Disposable, we figure, once they get sent out. Natasha knew one of them when she was...younger.” Natasha closely guarded her past, Clint wondered even then if she had revealed too much. “She was trained to be a similar type of operative, but in espionage - she never got injected.”

“So what happens, then, if we just get one of them? Probably swallow some cyanide pill and then we’re back to square one,” Steve said. Clint thought people only swallowed cyanide pills in the movies, but resisted the urge to point this out.

“SHIELD are experts at deprogramming,” he said. “The hope is that we can do that, and one can lead us back to where the program is.”

Steve nodded. “So we take him alive.”

“Kicking and screaming,” Clint said.

“Naw,” Steve said, and then turned towards their bedroom - presumably to pack. He looked surprised when Clint followed him.

“We’ve got time,” Clint said.

“Oh,” Steve said, and Clint pressed against him and tilted his head upwards so that he was able to kiss Steve. It was a little different, when your operative boyfriend was pretty indestructible...but there were things Clint was pretty sure even Steve wouldn’t make it through. Or that could do serious damage.

Steve returned the kiss in his typical earnest way, a little too much teeth, and Clint sighed. Steve’s hands were all over his ass again, massaging this time. “Steve-”

“You feel so good,” Steve said, voice soft since it was right in Clint’s ear. Clint sighed again. His ass had been the subject of numerous comments over the years - it had served him well. Yet there was something about Steve’s completely sincere appreciation that made him feel like someone was complimenting it for the first time. “Clint, I want you in me.”

“OK,” Clint said, glad his voice wasn’t wavering. They hadn’t really talked about this, but Steve had seemed to enjoy himself the last time. “Steve, you-” He didn’t want this to be some obligation. Some goodbye present.

“I really like it,” Steve said, and there was something really unsteady in his voice that made Clint kiss him, hard, and use a hand to guide him down to the bed.

“I just wanted to make sure,” Clint said.

“You make it so good,” Steve said, the tremor gone - but his voice was still soft. Steve put his hands on Clint’s pants and tugged them down quickly. They tangled on the bed as the rest of their clothes came off, hands occasionally making a divergence to explore. Clint focused on Steve’s hip bones and tracing those precise muscles.

“I think you played a pretty big role, last time,” Clint said. Steve blushed slightly, and Clint sucked at his neck.

“You can...” Steve ran his fingers through Clint’s hair, tugging a little. “It will heal really easy.”

 _Oh,_ Clint thought, and momentarily wondered where this came from - though did it matter? He was more than happy to oblige. He sucked, first, and then bit at Steve’s skin. Steve palmed Clint’s cock, pressing hard into his erection, then whipped his boxer briefs off. “Fuck, Steve.”

“Mmmhmm,” Steve said, and lube was somehow on his hand. Clint had a feeling Natasha was responsible. He would have to send some chocolate.

Steve’s thumb traced down Clint’s cock, and Clint rolled so he was on top of Steve. He was so solid beneath him, this wide expanse of muscle - slightly sweaty, definitely smiling, gorgeous lashes framing his face. “You’re gorgeous, Steve.”

“Clint...” Steve's other hand pressed into Clint’s chest. His thumb worked Clint’s nipple while he stroked his cock. Clint adjusted so that he could move his hips and align them. It was easy, now, building just the right amount of tension. “I like feeling...full, I want to be...”

“I know,” Clint said, because it might take some time for Steve to find the precise word. He was surprised, but he shouldn’t be - Steve had lost a lot.

Clint guided them both onto their sides, then pulled Steve’s top leg so it was over Clint. “There,” Clint said. “Perfect.” Steve was right - the spot where he had bit him had faded. Clint sucked their again as he traced his finger through Steve’s cleft. He was slow, maybe too slow, making wide passes, pressing in just slightly, pulling back.

Steve groaned, and that was what Clint wanted. His finger slid in easy - and this was new, feeling Steve this relaxed. Clint kissed his lips and sucked at his bottom lip as he thrust with his finger. “More,” Steve said. “Stretch me.”

“Jesus, Steve,” Clint said, and Steve actually grinned at him.

When Clint had the second finger in, after he followed orders, Steve said, “I did some, uh, research. Some more research. Now that I know what I wanted I could find - oh! Oh! Fuck!” It was Clint’s turn to grin as he stroked Steve’s prostate - he asked for it. “Oh, God, Clint.” Clint pulled all the way out and then let a third finger enter. Steve moaned and bit at his shoulder, and Clint began to rut against Steve. “Yes, now,” Steve said.

He rolled onto his back, and Clint took the moment to take the whole thing in. “Clint?”

“You’re just...really nice to look at,” Clint said, and instantly thought, _lame!_ Steve smiled, though, and wrapped a leg around Clint to draw him closer. “I like how...the eager, too.”

Steve had more lube in his hand and he bent so he could apply it to Clint’s cock. Clint moaned - Steve’s fingers were calloused, but not overly so, and he was able to twist and stroke at the same time in all the right places. “Clint.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint said, and Steve gave him another little grin.

Clint was still slow with Steve, allowing him time to adjust and relax. Steve had his eyes closed, lashes laying flat. Clint smiled. “That’s really good,” Steve murmured, when Clint was fully inside of him, and Clint leaned forward, slightly, before pulling out. Steve’s grin widened, and he opened his eyes to meet Clint’s.

“Good,” Clint said. Steve’s legs were loose and around his waist, and Clint adjusted one so that it was up on his shoulder. He slid in slowly again, to let Steve feel it out.

“Oh,” Steve said. “ _Oh._ ” Clint grinned. He used to have a boyfriend that called him the _Prostate Whisperer._ Probably because he didn’t know Clint’s secret identity, because then he would have made the much easier pun about how Clint had good aim or never missed or whatever. “Oh, God.”

Clint quickened his pace slightly, wanting to take in how Steve felt - warm, tight but relaxed, perfect around him. Steve’s head is back, exposing his neck, and Clint feels a slight rush just seeing that. It makes him feel even more protective of Steve.

Steve tightened the leg around his waist, and Clint sighed at the feeling of Steve’s muscles tightening against him, interior and exterior, the way his abs were contracting as he panted and groaned lightly with Clint’s movements. _Let’s make that a little louder,_ Clint thought, and he increased his pace, nothing pounding yet, but enough to begin the build. “Steve, yes, you’re so...”

“Fuck,” Steve muttered, and he was almost circling his hips against Clint now, and Clint reached forward to offer him the friction he was seeking. “Uh. Yes.” Clint stroked him slowly, still wanting to tease, and then Steve leveled him with a stern gaze. “Fuck me. Harder.”

It wasn’t something Clint could say no to, and he flicked his hips and moved instinctively, then, enough that the bed started to creak beneath them - leading to a wicked grin on Steve’s face and Clint could just smile back at that point, not sure how he’d managed to pull off having someone this perfect in his bed. Steve was moaning, too, and it was clear Clint was hitting him on each stroke from the way that sweat was puddling down his face.

Not that Clint was immune, because his orgasm had rapidly started to build and he was not going to last much longer. He came when he was buried deep in Steve and with a lengthy sigh and Steve pretty much came on his hand right after. Clint rested his head against the leg on his shoulder for a moment, then slid it back to his side.

“Clint,” Steve said. Then he stopped, and Clint met his eyes, and he knew where this was going and why Steve was looking at him like that.

“I know,” he said, to make it easier on both of them. Not like Steve was going to die from pursuing one wing nut assassin, given that he’d survived a whole space alien invasion - but then again, that was sort of how things did happen. “You need help packing?”

“Just the suit,” Steve said, and he looked embarrassed as Clint slid out of him. “Natasha said that I needed some clothes, to go, uh, spying around...but she would buy me some because mine were kinda conspicuous.”

 _God, I love that woman,_ Clint thought, just thinking about how Natasha probably phrased that. “Sort of,” Clint replied.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and he gave Clint a lazy smile.

* * *

“Do you live here now?” Clint shut the fridge door and glanced down at the beer that he was holding in his hand.

“Are these yours?”

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Tony said, so Clint handed him the beer and then got another one for himself. “I just mean, you’ve slept here and Steve’s not here, so have you finally come to your senses and moved in?”

“Um...no,” Clint said. “I mean, I’ve been sleeping in Steve’s room.”

“And smelling the underwear he left behind?” Tony asked.

“No,” Clint said. “I washed everything.”

“Folded it, put it in his drawers? Aren’t you a good house husband. Where’d Steve go, anyway?”

Clint shook his head. He knew this game. Tony seemed to always forget that he wasn’t just a sniper, but a highly trained SHIELD operative and spy. And a former Army Ranger. Not that that had led Clint to having to deny a lot of classified data - well, except for his sexuality.

“Mission,” Clint replied. Tony arched an eyebrow, then sighed.

“So you’ve got some time to yourself, huh? Well-”

“I’m not going to get involved in one of your and Bruce’s experiments,” Clint replied. “Unless by experiment you mean testing out some new weed.”

“Christ, one day Fury is going to ask us to piss in a cup and then we’re all going to have to confess...” Tony said.

“Presumably Bruce will get a pass,” Clint replied.

“And I will get to be smug for about thirty seconds,” Tony replied.

“Who knows,” Clint said - he didn’t think Fury would be _that_ pissed, so long as things were recreational, “maybe Fury has a giant bag of weed, too.” After all, each of them had done a lot worse and could do a lot more to compromise SHIELD and their team than smoke some weed.

Tony scrunched his face at this, then set his beer bottle on the counter and looked over at Clint. “Another?”

“Oh, are we drinking?” Clint asked.

“Don’t have to worry about whiskey dick,” Tony replied.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Clint replied. “Takes the pressure off.” Tony grinned at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Clint tried to make the best of the time Steve and Natasha were away. It was hard not to be concerned, though, because the shooting of a senator was blanketing the news almost twenty-four seven. Fortunately, the senator wasn’t fatally wounded, but he was apparently in stable but critical condition. Natasha wouldn’t like that - and Steve probably wouldn’t, either.

It bothered Clint because it seemed sloppy. He didn’t share Natasha’s fascination - her obsession, perhaps - with the Winter Soldier, but he knew that whoever trained them valued precision. You sent the Winter Soldier after someone when you wanted something that was clean, or purposefully messy, when you wanted to make it impossible to blame any one person or cause. Natasha and most of SHIELD were pretty certain one of the Winter Soldiers had been on the grassy knoll. They were probably right - Clint just didn’t want to think of the implications of that.

He focused on his physical therapy. He ran on the treadmill and set the elliptical to especially hard courses. He had dinner with Tony and Bruce, which went surprisingly well - they went to a Korean place and Clint and Bruce tried to outdo each other by applying increasingly hot spices and sauces to their food. “You are idiots,” Tony said, but he had a smile on his face.

 _This just might work,_ Clint thought. When he got home, he laid down on Steve’s bed and browsed Netflix to find something to watch. Steve called while he was scrolling.

“So, how are things in our nation’s capitol?” Clint asked.

“Not great,” Steve said. “Senator Pullman is doing all right, but...and Natasha’s mad, because whoever did it wasn’t very well trained.”

“That’s what I thought,” Clint replied.

“I, uh...um, not sure how to say this - we were pursuing the guy...she thought did it, in this mall? And we had to hide so he couldn’t see us - I was wearing a baseball hat - we were on an escalator...and so Natasha, uh, pulled me in for a kiss...a real kiss, like, with tongue-” It was the fastest Clint had ever heard Steve talk.

“Steve,” Clint said, so he could stop babbling. “It’s OK.”

“It’s OK?”

“Was it OK?” Clint asked, and he was trying very hard not to laugh. “Nat’s a pretty good kisser, usually, even under those kinds of circumstances.”

“Yeah, uh - you’ve kissed her?”

“Plenty of times,” Clint replied. “Mostly under those circumstances = trying to hide, or we were undercover as a couple.”

“Oh, well,” Steve said. He exhaled. “That makes me feel a lot better.” He exhaled again. “She was pretty good - not as good as you, I mean...”

“Steve,” Clint said. “It’s fine.”

“I probably have to go,” Steve said, with a sigh. “Soon.”

“Were you nervous about that all day?”

“Kind of,” Steve said.

“That’s really sweet,” Clint replied. It was. _Oh, Steve,_ he thought. “I miss you.”

“Me too,” Steve said. “Natasha thinks we’ll get this cleared up soon, though, so...”

“Good,” Clint said. “You’re both in good hands.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “I will try and call you this time tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Clint said. They lingered, for a moment, and he decided to relieve Steve. “Night.”

“Goodnight, Clint,” Steve said.

Clint sighed, and then picked a bad horror movie that he would never subject Steve to unless he made an active request to experience the genre. He got some beer from the fridge, set it on the night table, and drank three of them as he watched and tried not to think about how useless he felt.

* * *

The next afternoon Clint was dripping with sweat as he climbed further into the elliptical’s program and his _Ultimate Cock Rock_ mix filling the gym with cheesy, guitar heavy music. He was mostly thinking about how much he’d rather be getting fucked, or fucking Steve, and how his last week with his soft cast was going to be the longest yet - and even then, he wasn’t going to get back in the field, since it would probably take another two weeks before he was able to get his shooting skills back at the level they needed to be.

Every time he got irritated he remembered why he had done it.

He was just about through with the toughest climb in the program when the music stopped and JARVIS interrupted. “Sir says that you may wish to come and watch the news, Agent Barton,” JARVIS said, “there is a shoot-out occurring on the streets of Washington, D.C.”

“Fuck,” Clint said. He nearly stumbled and fell off of the elliptical, but managed to catch his footing and landed without incident - that would have been too embarrassing. _How did you sprain your ankle, Agent Barton?_

He draped a towel around his shoulder and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “Where is Tony?”

“In the main lounge area with Doctor Banner,” JARVIS replied.

It took Clint three minutes to get there, and by the time he was there large amounts of SWAT agents had turned up. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked.

“Let me show you-” Tony began.

“Don’t rewind it, we’ll miss-” Bruce interrupted.

“Relax, Bruce - JARVIS, split the screen, rewind to the beginning on the right? Subtitles underneath.”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS replied. Clint watched as a choppy news feed began. _Three civilians are involved in a shoot out with an armed terrorist,_ the text read, and it was clear it was Natasha and Steve because of Natasha’s red hair.

Speaking of hair - _did she get him a haircut?_ Clint thought, and was instantly really angry. He had liked Steve’s hair. A lot. And, sure the side part was distinctive...and hair grew back...

He shook his head and watched as Natasha and Steve and another man, in military issue sweats, pursued the black clad Winter Soldier and several of his goons. Clint narrowed his eyes. “JARVIS, can you zoom in on the figure in black?” he asked.

JARVIS merely complied, and there it was - the glint of silver, that same stupid red communist star- “Fuck,” he said. The one he had run into had the same arm, and there were pictures they had - the only really clear ones of a Winter Soldier - from the eighties had the same arm. Though it was possible they were just implanting it on each new operative, to give the impression it had been the same man.

“What?” Tony asked.

Clint shook his head.

“Who is that guy?” Tony added.

“Top secret assassin,” Clint replied. “Nat’s been on his trail for awhile.”

Steve managed to get his shield out of a car, and Clint smiled slightly. _It appears that one of the men is fighting with Captain America’s shield...there is speculation this individual may, in fact, be Captain America..._

“Fuck, look at that,” Bruce said, voice soft - making it even more alarming. Clint turned his attention to the left side of the screen. The Winter Soldier had just jumped off of a bridge - thirty, forty feet, and landed with his legs bent like an acrobat. “He’s been...he’s got...” Bruce looked over at Clint.

“They think the Russians got a hold of Zola’s formula, the one where he tried to recreate from Schmidt,” Clint said.

“Because that’s a good idea,” Tony replied.

Bruce shook his head. The cameraman on the left side, the current size, began to run as the action drew closer. Then the feed went black.

“I am currently inside our news van, Chris, and we’re going to get filming again soon...” he said, breathless, but he was interrupted by the sound of gunshots. Then the film resumed, showing the military guy who was helping Steve and Natasha run by the window of the news vehicle, which they must have been filming out of.

“You need to get out of here!”

“Who are you?” someone asked.

“Get out of here, you’re gonna get killed!” the military officer said. A shot clearly hit the side of the van.

“We’re going to drive to a secure location,” the cameraman said. As they drove off the feed became shaky and pretty much useless. Then, by the time they were situated where they wouldn’t get killed, most of the fighting was behind some cars that had been turned over or were pointed in the wrong direction on the road.

“We should get down there,” Tony said. “I could get there in an hour-”

“It will be contained within an hour,” Clint said.

“That’s why you’re here,” Tony said. “Fury wants you to keep us out of this.”

“It’s not an Avengers action.”

“Yeah, well, neither was my little encounter with the Mandarin, and I really would have appreciated some back-up,” Tony said. He crossed his arms. Bruce pressed his lips together. “Not you, you didn’t know, you were in the fucking Amazon.”

“Well,” Bruce said.

“Look, I obviously can’t physically restrain you,” Clint said. “But it’s likely that if we all try and get involved we’ll be unable to achieve mission objectives, which is to capture the spy and get the location of the program - which might lead us to HYDRA - and it could put Natasha and Steve in danger.”

“I really don’t see how,” Tony said, but he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes at Clint. “But if you’re managing to stay put even though this shit is going on...”

Clint turned his attention back to the television, where the anchor was stating that the shooting had largely stopped and that the aggressor party had got away. “We’re going to head back to the scene and see if we can get confirmation that one of the people fighting the terrorists was, in fact, Captain America...”

“You need confirmation?” Tony asked. “Because Captain America just leaves his shield laying around-”

“I need a beer,” Clint said.

“Yes,” Tony replied.

They spent the next three hours watching news coverage of the shoot out, as the networks replayed the initial footage over and over and speculated as to what was going on and what it all meant. It took half an hour for them to develop a drinking game out of the coverage.

“Sip when Anderson Cooper gets that constipated look,” Bruce said.

“Sip when they show the footage of the assassin going off the bridge,” Tony said. “Or Natasha tackling that massive Russian man.” Clint grinned. Natasha _was_ pretty awesome, even if she didn’t support fun.

“Finish your beer when someone suggests the assassin is from the Middle East,” Clint added. “Or there is an Al Qaeda connection.”

Tony, of course, contributed, “Sip when they show Steve’s ass for an extended period of time but try and pretend it’s legitimate news coverage.”

“It is a good ass,” Clint said. “What? I wasn’t the one that brought it up.”

After three hours, though, he just got frustrated with the lack of information and the same speculation being presented over and over. He was about to go back to the gym when he realized that he was drunk, so instead he went to Steve’s room. Clint turned on his laptop and began to play Tetris, glancing over at his phone every ten minutes and willing it to ring.

Nothing happened, though, and he took a dose of Ativan to help get himself to sleep.

The next day he was able to exercise - on the treadmill, then on the elliptical - and he kept his phone mounted close to him. _There isn’t going to be anything for awhile,_ he told himself. _And no news is good news..._

That night, he startled when the phone actually rang. “Hello?”

“Clint?” It was Natasha - and it made his stomach drop, because there was no good reason for Steve not to be the one calling him unless he was hurt.

“Yes,” he said.

“We’re going to need you to come down here,” she said. She was trying to use her taciturn, professional voice but Clint could hear something real behind it that was cracking. “We’ve got him. We had it all wrong.”

“Steve?”

“Physically, he’s unharmed,” Natasha said.

Clint let his insides twist, and then closed his eyes. “I’ll probably be coming down via Stark Air.”

“You’ll have to, SHIELD hasn’t requested you, “ Natasha replied.

Clint opened his eyes. Not that Natasha going off orders was unheard of, but it usually wasn’t for something as audacious as this. “Understood,” he said. This, of course, meant nothing good. It meant something bad - and Clint couldn’t even conceive of what it could be. HYDRA, something from Steve’s past...

“Just try and keep Stark out of it. For now.” _That’s not ominous, or anything,_ he thought.

“I’ll see you soon, Nat,” he replied, and closed his phone.

He had packed his own go back as soon as Steve had left, so he grabbed it with his good hand and headed for the lab. He found Tony staring at some blue screen, working on an update for the single suit he was now limiting himself to. “You’ve got your own jet, right?”

“Corporate jet,” Tony said. “But I don’t need to use it anymore, I use...” he looked up and narrowed his eyes. “Are they bringing in the cavalry?”

“They caught him,” Clint replied. “But something’s wrong. Nat wants me to come for Steve.”

It was the right thing to say, because Tony just nodded, clearly not wanting to wade into a quaqmire of emotions surrounding HYDRA and who knew what else from Steve’s past. “I’ll call Pepper,” he said. “You might as well head over to the air field, though, I’ll get a car.”

“Thanks,” Clint said.

Tony just nodded, like he let people borrow his jet all the time. “Let me know what you can,” he said, just before Clint was out the door.

“Sure,” Clint said.

He took another Ativan on the flight, even though he knew he shouldn’t - but was going to have to be there for Steve and handle a bunch of people who didn’t want him to be there for any reason.

“I’m sorry, Agent Barton,” said some junior agent, “but you don’t have clearance for-” He stopped when Clint just gave him his standard resting face - even with a broken wrist he could still fuck the kid up in ten, eleven different ways.

“Just say I kicked you in the nuts,” Clint said. The junior agent nodded.

No one else paid much attention to him, since they hadn’t been charged with guarding the door and keeping the riff raff out. Clint walked past people in hushed huddles, all of them with wide eyes - as though someone had died. Maybe someone had died. Enough people had died.

Clint didn’t encounter his next impediment until he came to Sitwell, who had been shot. “Shoulder, sir?” he asked.

“Agent Barton, you are not authorized-”

“Yeah, fuck that, Jasper,” Clint said, and smiled at him.

Sitwell held his ground. _Fuck you,_ Clint thought. Sitwell had become a real toad since Coulson’s death, changing from Coulson’s protege into the agent everyone thought Coulson really had been - strict, to the book, never wavering, basically a robot.

“I called him,” Natasha said, appearing from around a corner. There were ligature bruises on her neck from a set of hands, though one was much deeper and darker than the other. _Metal,_ Clint thought. Natasha shook her head at him. She was in SHIELD sweats, so there were presumably other injuries. She only ever wore them when her current suit had been bloodied and shredded - it was either sweats or infirmary gowns. She was carrying her tablet case.

Sitwell glanced between the two of them - even injured, no one was going to try and go against Hawkeye and the Black Widow. Still, the idiot considered it, even though he had one arm. So almost no one.

“I called him for Captain Rogers,” Natasha said.

Sitwell looked confused. Apparently he hadn’t got the memo, or there hadn’t been a memo. He would be pissed about that. “We’re seeing each other,” Clint said, since it sounded more adult than _he’s my boyfriend._ “Intimately,” he added, since it appeared Sitwell was short-circuiting a little bit.

“I - well, then...” He moved aside for Clint as he walked towards Natasha.

She didn’t say anything until they were in a hallway. “Two cracked ribs, bruising, broken toe,” she said. “Standard.”

“That’s good,” Clint said. She nodded, then opened the door to an interrogation room.

For a moment, Clint felt a rise of panic - it seemed to be instinctive, since Loki, there was still a part of him that thought they were all going to turn on him and decide he was a traitor. But then Natasha sat on table and gestured for him to do the same, and he was able to breath again.

She pulled her tablet out of its case and tapped on it. “Nat-”

“It’s been the same person all along,” she said. “Since 1948. The serum. And they may have froze him, there’s hints in the blood samples-”

“Nat-” The arm, he thought. He felt a little bit sick.

She angled the tablet so he could see. It was the photo they must have taken once they brought the Winter Soldier in and unmasked him. His face was dirty and his eyes were cold, dead. His hair was long and greasy and some of it hung in his face. The dark circles under his eyes were better classified as chasms.

“He looks familiar,” Clint said.

“He’s Bucky Barnes,” Natasha replied.


	4. Chapter 4

“You knew him,” Clint said.

“I was younger,” Natasha replied. She shook her head. “I never made the connection - but it was...I thought _he_ was dead.” She had never really talked to Clint about the Winter Soldier. But from what she had said - how she’d said it - he knew that the relationship had been deep, intimate, possibly even physically intimate.

Clint had been ready for this as soon as she said it had been the same person all along, and while he felt like he should seek out Steve, he knew Natasha needed him too. _The Ativan was a good choice,_ he thought, and then inhaled. “Nat-”

“He doesn’t remember anything, though,” she said. “Like I was but worse.” Clint nodded. Natasha had been cool and collected half of the time - for the things she’d been trained for, prepared for - but as soon as they went off script she had been feral, angry, scared. “I pulled the mask off and that was when he-” she waved her hands at her neck. “I would have died if it weren’t for Steve and Sam.”

“Sam?” Clint asked, but then shook his head - the guy in the military sweats.

“Steve picked him up,” Natasha said. “Turned out to be a real asset. I think we should keep him.” Clint nodded.

Natasha was squeezed as tight as she could get with her ribs in the condition they were in. Her shoulders were hunched and she looked like she wanted to pull her knees to her chest and make herself as small as possible. Clint leaned over and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Same as we did for you, I guess,” he said.

“They only had me for seven years,” she replied. “They didn’t...” she shook her head. “I think he’s been different people.” It would make it easier if he was, Clint thought - then the man she knew would be functionally dead, and Natasha could draw that line.

“Steve’s in his room. He’s sedated. You probably want-”

“I’ll sit with you here as long as you need me to,” Clint said. The words came out slow and sticky - he and Natasha usually left those kind of sentiments unsaid, but, fuck, this was definitely the time when you needed to throw that kind of thing out the window. He felt Natasha relax slightly under his arm.

“Thanks,” she said. “Fury came down from New York. And Hill got pulled in to run things, so that’s why Sitwell is so pissed.”

“Sitwell is pissed for a lot of other reasons,” Clint said. “You know how I feel about mandatory therapy, but-” Natasha laughed at this. “Maybe a punching bag.”

“Because that really works for - sorry.”

“No, it’s OK,” Clint said. “We’re all fucked up, just different. Makes it more entertaining.”

Natasha startled, then sighed and took her phone out of its compartment in her tablet case. “They want us both over to medical.”

“Word spreads fast,” Clint said.

“Hill didn’t say anything when I said you were coming here,” Natasha replied. “Just tightened her jaw a little bit.”

“Oh, Maria,” Clint said. She was someone else who was so tightly wound she was probably going to snap someday - probably doing something mundane, like making cookies for her niece. The baking would go to tell because she forgot the salt or something and she would, wind up on the floor covered in baking materials sobbing. Clint thought that maybe he should teach a seminar - _You Don’t Have To Be a Tight-Ass All the Time to Be a Professional and Succeed at SHIELD._ Though he probably needed to work on the title.

The room where the Winter Soldier - Bucky, Clint corrected himself - was held was blocked off with dark curtains, though there was a SHIELD doctor going in and out. Fury was standing right outside the covered window along with Hill. He nodded at Clint and Natasha.

“We have Dr. Liu and her team coming in from Switzerland,” Fury said. “They were presenting at a conference. Until then we are keeping him sedated.”

 _Ah, Dr. Liu,_ Clint thought. _Won’t it be nice to see her again?_ He shouldn’t judge her based on his own interactions, though - he wasn’t the typical brainwashing subject. Natasha had been surprised when he said that she had been cold, frustrating and a little bit useless. Apparently Natasha checked in with her once a month, even if over the phone.

“Someone thought we might have an opportunity to extract valuable intelligence,” Hill added.

“That someone has a broken collarbone,” Fury said. “You’ve been treated, Agent Romanov?”

“Sir,” she replied. She rolled her eyes - Clint wanted to know who the dumbass was.

“This is a situation unlike any we’ve experienced before,” Fury replied. “We will follow standard procedures once Dr. Liu arrives. Intelligence extraction will be prioritized over rehabilitation, initially.”

Clint glanced at Natasha, who nodded.

“Preliminary analysis indicates that Sgt. Barnes has been treated with several versions of the serum over differing periods of time. The first injection was before his fall, and likely allowed him to survive. The others have provided increased strength and endurance, but it’s not comparable to Captain Rogers’ abilities,” Hill added. “That’s all we have for now.”

“It might be worthwhile to have Dr. Banner take a look at things,” Clint said. Fury’s brow furrowed. “He spent considerable time researching the effects of the serum on himself, not to mention worked on the version he was...he might have valuable insight.”

“Agreed,” said Fury. “But that means we’ll have to deal with Stark, as well.”

“We could have him analyze the prosthetic,” Hill said, primarily to Fury. Clint shuffled his feet.

“You can go in, Agent Barton,” Fury said.

“Sir,” Clint replied, and he had to inhale, then exhale, before he opened the slender door to the room.

Steve didn’t look up at first. He was hunched over in an uncomfortable hospital chair, hands clasped at his waist and head down as if he were praying.

Bucky’s eyes were closed, though his brow was deep and furrowed - and the dark circles were quiet bad, probably because of how gaunt he was. Clint wanted to pull the blanket up to his neck to cover him - there was a distinct lack in the space where his arm should be, and it was more alarming because of the coils of metal wrapped and built into his shoulder and the few bits of wire sticking out. All sorts of monitors were strapped to his chest, and someone had put in a chest portal for the sedating agent - presumably to counteract his healing abilities.

“Steve,” Clint said, after he had a good enough image of things.

Steve turned, and Clint sighed. Natasha had cut his hair - it was spiky, though still a little wet with sweat, and it was the sort generic hair you saw on frat bros a year out of college who worked at banks or went to law school. “Hey,” Steve said, and he looked...completely broken, and young, more confused than when Clint had found him after he vomited in that one diner. “Nat said you were coming.”

Clint almost cracked a joke - _you kiss her, so she’s Nat now,_ \- but he kept it back when he saw Steve had been crying. He clenched his hands and then winced, because his wrist did not appreciate it. He wanted to hurt someone. “You OK?” Steve asked.

“It’s nothing,” Clint said. He grabbed a chair and pulled alongside Steve. He was tight and curled into himself too. Clint took another look at Bucky - _the_ Bucky, who he’d heard so much about. Bucky, the Commandos sniper and the guy you always got to do the batshit crazy stuff because you knew he could pull it off. Bucky, who used to always try and find girls for Steve to dance with. Who defended Steve from whoever decided to punch him that day. Who got Steve involved in all kinds of wacky shenanigans and minor adventures in Brooklyn.

“I didn’t see,” Steve said. “Just him choking Natasha. She was...I pulled him off and I broke something, probably a rib, and he turned to hit me and...” Steve pulled his lower lip into his mouth. “I thought I was gonna...I don’t even know, like the bottom fell out on everything in my gut. I thought, you know, back in the street, it was like I’d seen him before. Figured it was from the pictures in the file. If Sam hadn’t been there...”

“I’m glad he was,” Clint said. He moved to touch Steve’s thigh, then pulled back. Steve’s eyes were darting from Bucky to Clint - like he was going to have to make a choice.

 _Fuck,_ Clint thought, _maybe he was. Maybe he loves him. He could definitely love him - they could love each other, thwarted by society’s prohibitions, two lovers lost to time and reunited when they could finally be together. The love story of the fucking century - because everyone wants a love triangle!_

“Fuck, Clint,” Steve said, and his eyes were moist again and he leaned over and sort of collapsed into Clint. He was just able to move an arm so Steve could lay against his chest, and he hugged Steve to him, tighter and more fiercely than he had Natasha. _So he might not love him,_ Clint thought, and then dashed all of those thoughts out of his head - nothing was going to be made better by him worrying about that.

“I mean, what the fuck?” Steve added.

“Can’t answer that,” Clint said. He brushed some fingers through Steve’s hair.

“I told Natasha you wouldn’t like it,” Steve said, voice pained and soft.

“Doesn’t matter,” Clint said. “They’re bringing in SHIELD’s team of brainwashing experts.”

“They have a team?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Happens more than you think.”

Steve pulled back and sat back in his chair. He looked at Clint and nodded, realizing that Clint had met with them. Remembering that Clint had been brainwashed, or put in thrall, or however you wanted to phrase it. Clint sighed.

“They worked with Natasha,” Clint replied.

“OK,” Steve said.

“And she turned out fine.” It was a weak attempt at a joke, and Steve didn’t even give him a smile for the effort. Steve just sighed.

“I’ve been going over it, again and again,” Steve said. “He fell so far. So long. They said it was too dangerous to try and find the body.”

“Zola injected him with some kind of version of the serum,” Clint said. “Gave him longevity, healing...”

“I never saw it,” Steve said. “I watched him like a hawk, or tried to, and I never saw it.”

“You were sort of fighting a war,” Clint said.

“It wouldn’t of changed what I did,” Steve added. “But...” He shook his head.

“There was no way you could have known,” Clint said. “Fuck, we’ve been tracking him since SHIELD was founded and we didn’t even figure out he was the same person the whole time.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. _You haven’t even been defrosted that long, yourself,_ Clint thought. _You hadn’t even heard of the Winter Soldier until a few days ago._ But Steve was going to blame himself. He was going to blame himself for a long time. “Can we go somewhere else?”

“Sure,” Clint said. He wasn’t as familiar with the D.C. facility as he should be, but he was pretty sure there were agent quarters down the hall from the medical wing. He confirmed this when they emerged from the room and Natasha nodded in the direction he thought they were.

Steve didn’t say anything as they walked and then stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “I didn’t come here because I wanted to...” Clint said, as Steve flexed and clenched his fingers. “I just thought it would be more private. To talk.”

“It’s not you,” Steve said. “I just don’t know what to do with myself.” He sat down on the bed, shoulders slumped over. Clint waited a moment, then sat down next to him. “I’m real sorry about the haircut.”

“Hair grows,” Clint said. He put a hand on Steve’s face and, when he didn’t feel any resistance, turned so Steve was facing Clint. Steve’s eyes were a little puffy and red, and there were streaks down from eyes in the light layer of grime on his face. Clint felt bad for finding it attractive, in that prince who wants to save the princess sort of way, but not bad enough that he stopped himself from leaning in and kissing Steve very lightly on the lips.

Steve met his eyes when Clint pulled away. “They sent him to kill me.”

“They...” _Fuck,_ Clint thought, _why hadn’t anyone told me that?_ “Are you sure?”

“He said so,” Steve said. “That Senator, those other people in the street, the people...his accomplice, it was all just a ploy. And whoever it was that sent him, I bet they wanted me to know, before...that it was him.”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Sounds about right - standard villain behavior.” This time he winced at his own attempt at levity.

Steve sighed. “I just want to know what’s going to happen.” He shifted so he was sitting with his legs crossed on the mattress, and Clint turned so he was facing him. Steve fell into him, laid his head down gently on Clint’s shoulder. “I want to know if he’ll be OK...or if he won’t.”

Clint began to stroke his hair. He felt like there should be something that he could offer, but what was there to say? They might get him back, they might not. They might wind up with some damaged, Bucky-shaped husk, sucked dry of everything and left to rot in some room in SHIELD somewhere. They might put him next to the Abomination. They might quietly poison him and wash their hands on the whole thing because there was nothing left to save. It was SHIELD - there were infinite possibilities, but Clint believed Fury that they were going to try, at first. Because no one wanted to break Captain America.

They seemed to sit there for forever. Steve was only swallowing, heavy, and his breath was hot and Clint could feel it through his t-shirt. He kept stroking Steve’s hair.

Then Steve pulled his head up and he kissed Clint, hard, and a hand was on the back of Clint’s head and his fingers were twisting hard into his hair. Steve was using more of his strength than Clint was used to and was kissing him like he was hungry.

When Steve pulled back he looked embarrassed, but Clint reached and squeezed his thigh. “We can do that, if you want,” Clint said. “Just...watch the wrist, OK?”

“I don’t want you to-”

“Steve.” Clint said, because really? Sometimes being with someone meant that you got to take out a little bit of your anger with a rough fuck.

“OK,” Steve said. He pushed Clint so that Clint was on his back. Steve straddled over him. “You have to let me know, if I hurt-” Clint nodded. Then Clint grabbed at Steve’s shirt and tugged him down so that he could kiss him. He was rough as well, and as he pulled away he sucked and nibbled a little bit at Steve’s lower lip. “One second,” he said, and he reached for the bag he’d been dragging around with him.

Steve gave him a slight, nervous smile when he emerged with the lube he’d packed - like they’d never fucked before. Clint felt a swell in his chest. _Never change, Steve Rogers,_ he thought, and that just made it worse, because while he couldn’t predict what was going to happen, he knew that it was going to change Steve.

They tugged each other clothes off, and Clint bit lightly at Steve’s neck, and then further down, sucking and nipping. Then Steve followed his example, though he stuck to Clint’s collarbones, which could be hidden behind fabric.

Steve was still straddled over him, and he thrust his hips into Clint to get contact between their cocks. Clint slicked his hand and then put his fist over both of them, and Steve wrapped his hand over it. He tugged at Clint’s hand, thrusting in a furious but slow way that made Clint groan. When Steve let go, Clint did as well, and Steve traced his thumb around the head of Clint’s cock before slicking his own hand.

He tugged at Clint’s chest hair with his other hand, then bucked his hips back into Clint. Then he sat back and grabbed Clint’s legs and spread Clint wide. Clint moaned, and Steve looked at him with a steady, needy gaze. Clint licked his lips and nodded.

Steve aligned his finger and then pushed it in with one smooth motion. Clint hissed, then groaned, suddenly full and stretched. “Yes,” Clint said.

“I’m going to fuck you with them,” Steve said, and Clint nodded. Steve pressed in and out, nearly withdrawing his finger each time and then plunging back in. He began to spread Clint with the second but kept the same pace, and it felt so good.

“Yes, Steve,” Clint said, because Steve was tugging him apart in the exact right way. He wanted to encourage him - not that he wanted it like this all the time. Though he had had an entire relationship primarily based on how good the hate sex between them was.

When Steve added the third finger, Clint bucked and worked his hips against the motion. Steve groaned and stretched his fingers further, somehow managed to get himself deeper inside Clint and- “Fuuck!” Clint said, and something hot moved straight from his prostate to his cock to his spine to his brain. “Jesus, Steve.”

Steve grinned slightly, then pulled his fingers out. It made a wet sound and that made Clint’s cock twitch. “Now,” Steve said, and Clint nodded again. Steve pressed his tip against him and again aligned himself, then he was inside Clint with a hard, fast motion.

Clint gasped - Steve was big, and he had been prepped, but he still felt like he was going to burst. In the best way possible. “Clint?”

“No, more,” Clint said.

Clint took Steve in as he fucked him with long, hard, slow strokes. Steve was fucking perfect - long, lean muscular thighs that joined with that rounded, gorgeous ass. Broad chest, those shoulders. Clint groaned, and Steve pushed his legs a little bit more apart.

“I want it to...” Steve said, and trailed off but met Clint’s eyes. He realized his thighs were trembling. “You feel so tight.”

“Good,” Clint said. “More.” Steve looked looser, more himself. Despite his speed he was just grazing Clint’s prostate after the direct hit - but it was about what he could handle.

He grabbed Clint’s legs and pulled them so they were around Steve’s waist. Clint tightened his own hold and pulled himself closer to Steve. They moaned together, and Clint used it to leverage against Steve’s brutal thrusts. _This is definitely straight up fucking,_ Clint thought. Steve was thrusting in him hard and fast now, and Clint could feel the thrusts deep in his core.

Steve grabbed Clint’s thighs and pulled himself in closer, and it was going to bruise, and Clint liked that. Clint clenched against Steve. “Damn, more like that,” Steve said, and Clint complied and Steve bent a bit more and he was hitting Clint direct on then.

“Fuck, fuck,” Clint said, and then groaned incoherently. Steve was biting at his lower lip. Clint held his gaze. The bed was hitting the wall and squeaking - thankfully, Steve didn’t seem to notice. “Right there, Steve, like that.”

“Grab your cock,” Steve said, and Clint felt the first shudder, the beginning of an orgasm that had been climbing high and fast and then plateaued. Clint fisted himself in rhythm with Steve and it didn’t take long for him to spill over his hand and for his whole body to go slack.

Steve fucked him straight through it, not wavering, and Clint thought it wasn’t possible to come as much as he was. “Jesus, fuck,” he said, and then he was full and warm and Steve was pulsing into him. Clint’s whole body shuddered.

Steve’s face immediately softened, and Clint gave him a wide smile. “Steve,” he said.

“Clint,” Steve said, and it was like they had just been gentle, whatever you wanted to call that, like Steve hadn’t just drilled him so hard he was going to walk weird for a few days.

Steve pulled out and Clint guided him onto his side, then laid beside him - assuming the position of the big spoon, though Steve was bigger than he was in so many ways. Clint draped his arm over Steve’s chest. He kissed Steve at the back of his neck, his mouth gentle. Steve’s breathing was easy and his shoulders didn’t seem tense. _I’m going to protect you,_ Clint thought. He kissed behind Steve’s ear.

“Thank you,” Steve said, almost a whisper.

“Steve, I...whatever you need,” Clint said. “Really.”

“That felt really fucking good, Clint,” Steve said, after a long minute.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Catharsis.”

“I like...” Steve mumbled something that Clint couldn’t quite catch, and Clint leaned so he could kiss Steve behind the ear. “I mean...”

“You have no idea,” Clint murmured, voice soft, “how good you feel, how good you look.” He ran a hand over Steve’s smooth chest, and he knew Steve was blushing slightly. “ I want to make you happy.” He wasn’t exactly sure what Steve was trying to get it, but it seemed to be the right thing to say.

“I feel like I’m being selfish.” Steve said. “Like I always decide-”

“Don’t,” Clint said. “I’ll let you know if it’s actually, ever, a problem, though I doubt that.”

“Mmm,” Steve said. “They don’t expect me - us - to do anything, do they? I mean, with...things.”

“They would let us know if they did,” Clint said.

“OK,” Steve said. “So we can stay here.”

“My phone will ring,” Clint said. Steve rolled a little so he could kiss Clint on the lips, and it was long and deep.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint wasn’t entirely sure why he got nominated, though he supposed that it made sense - no need to cause psychological issues in Steve and Natasha on the first day, since this was going to be a long process. And Clint hadn’t been one of the Winter Soldier’s targets. Also, he was told his resting face was fairly intimidating.

Still, he was glad that one of Dr. Liu’s team was in there with him and even more so that it was Helena Kagan, the only person Clint had connected with when he dealt with his own brain washing. She was relatively new to the whole thing, so she probably only got the nomination because she spoke Russian. A useful skill, when you specialized in brain washing - Russian and Mandarin, even these days, tended to be the lingua franca of the cognitively compromised.

Clint watched as Bucky Barnes woke - his hands flexed first, then his feet, and when he realized he was securely strapped down and minus his most significant asset he made a growling sound. Clint went back to looking at his phone even as he knew Bucky was opening his eyes and assessing his surroundings. He waited.

Finally, when he felt the cold stare on him for at least three minutes - which sucked, because he was just about to beat a new level of Angry Birds - he put the phone on the hospital bedside table.

“Hello,” said Dr. Kagan. “How are you feeling?”

“Fucked,” replied Bucky in Russian. He stared at her breasts and grinned, and Clint felt a pang in his gut because he looked like a dirty hippie version of the Bucky that Clint had seen in one of Steve’s drawings.

She replied, something Clint didn’t know - his Russian wasn’t that good. It certainly wasn’t conversational. Most of what he picked up from Natasha had been slurs, expletives, and different ways to instruct people to fuck themselves.

“Your Russian is very good for an American,” Bucky said, in English. His accent was as crisp and American as Clint’s. He had a detached look.

“Well, I am not American, but Canadian,” she replied. “I don’t think our countries have too much animosity towards each other.” Bucky narrowed his eyes at her. “Well, aside from the 1972 Summit Series. That probably still stings.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

She leaned in, emphasizing her cleavage. Clint knew that she knew what she was doing, but he couldn’t help but feel skeptical. “Shame they didn’t defrost you for that. It was quite riveting.”

Bucky thrashed as he tried to lean towards her, the response involuntary. Clint did his best to stay focused even as he remembered Natasha like that. She had gnashed her teeth and battled against her restraints like some caged animal. When he realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere he stopped, but Clint could see the wheels in his head - later. He was calculating the different things he would do, the permutations for how it would play out.

He reminded Clint of Loki, and suddenly he tasted vomit in the back of his throat - the protein shake he’d sucked down and the granola bar Steve had made him eat. He swallowed but kept his face neutral.

“And who are you?”

“Special Agent Clinton Barton, SHIELD,” he said. “You were sent to kill two of ours.” He’d practiced that, mostly because no one really knew what Steve technically was. _One of mine,_ he thought. _Both of mine._

“SHIELD,” said Bucky. His eyes widened. “The noble Captain America going over to some shadow government agency. It would have been a mercy killing.”

“Maybe,” Clint said. “But, as it turned out, the noble Captain America got the drop on you. So you’re ours now too. Well, ours in a different way.” He glanced over at his phone, doing his best to indicate boredom with the whole thing - I deal with my boyfriend’s supposedly dead brainwashed assassin best friends all the time!

“And it will be so much better for me if I cooperate,” he replied. “Of course.”

“What made you think we were asking for your cooperation?” Clint asked. Then Clint looked over at Dr. Kagan, who nodded. Then they both stood, Clint taking his phone.

“We’ll talk later,” Dr. Kagan said, and they both walked out.

Steve was wide and glassy-eyed, and he frowned when he saw Clint. “It’s just-” Clint began, wanting to explain the technique.

“Clinton?” Steve said.

Natasha laughed, though it was sort of a choked sound. “Clinton Francis,” she said, and then Steve laughed along with her. Dr. Kagan gave Clint a slight smile. “Clinton Francis Barton.”

“Oh,” Steve said, finally. He gave Steve an embarrassed smile.

“Are you really Canadian?” Clint asked Dr. Kagan. She nodded her head. It was probably why he liked her.

“My mother was Russian,” she replied.

“So what do we do now?” Steve asked.

“We let him stew,” said Dr. Liu. “He will have been trained and conditioned for that, so we must manipulate his expectations. For example, many times people during an interrogation will refill your water, over and over, and then you will have to go to the bathroom. They will not let you. It will become uncomfortable enough-”

“That really works?” Steve asked.

“On common criminals,” Clint replied.

“It is just an example,” Dr. Liu said. One of the reasons Clint didn’t like her was because she took the same tone as his first grade teacher had whenever Clint interrupted her in class. As though he was a complete imposition - as though, because he wasn’t picking up on reading as fast as everyone else, he shouldn’t say anything. “We will let you know when we feel it is best for you to speak to him. You must remember that right now, you are both his targets.”

Steve and Natasha nodded. Clint wondered how Dr. Kagan managed to tolerate having that kind of a boss - though maybe they had a different relationship, because they both had phDs.

He was amazed that he thought that just as Tony and Bruce made their entrance. It was almost as if Clint could sense their genius approaching.

“Hey, guys, what do we have going on here?” Tony asked, grinning from ear to ear, though Clint could see in his eyes that he was disquieted. Bruce shook his head and looked at Steve, slightly apologetic.

Their arrival at least gave Natasha the opportunity to slip back into her professional persona. “We’d like if you could both assist us in the lab,” she said. “Stark, if you wouldn’t mind looking at the Winter Soldier’s prosthetic arm?”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Tony said. “Mostly for the lols, though - that’s how the kids say it these days, right?

“It’s not funny,” Steve said, and Clint saw Natasha wince - later, she would tell him it was the tone that Steve had taken with Tony on the Helicarrier. “He nearly killed Nat with that thing, and got me pretty good with it, too.”

“Right,” Tony said, and Clint was impressed that he didn’t say anything else.

“We thought you might be able to provide some insight on the serum present in Sgt. Barnes’ blood samples,” Natasha said to Bruce.

“I can certainly try,” Bruce replied. “Steve, we should probably get some from you if...well, if we can?”

“They were back when they took samples right after...” Steve said. “I guess if you’re quick about it.”

“We have several technicians known for their efficiency,” Natasha said, and she began to walk towards the lab. Bruce looked at Steve, shrugged, and the two of them followed her.

Which left Clint with Tony - the two psychologists had departed silently, probably wisely, and definitely for the best.

“Well, you know, I never would have predicted this,” Tony said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Clint asked.

“No, I just thought someone should say it,” Tony replied. He nodded at Clint, as though this was another sage pearl of wisdom that Clint should be relieved was just offered up to him.

“That’s great,” Clint said.

“Whoa, whoa - now this, I did predict, which is that you were going to lash out at me instead of the brainwashed asshole locked up over there,” Tony said.

“I don’t think Bucky was an-”

“He could be,” Tony replied, then met Clint’s look. “What? Howard said as much - you know, my dad, knew them? - I mean, not that Howard...but, it’s not like he was some...Steve.” Clint arched an eyebrow. “Fuck. Anyway, look. Uh. Do you know where that arm is?”

“Not really, but I can give you my best guess,” Clint replied. They found the room in the second try - Clint was losing his touch. Tony was halfway in the door before he turned and looked at Clint.

“Guy with the wings-”

“Sam Wilson,” Clint said.

“Anyone talk to him? Bet he has some interesting insights.” Then he closed the door.

 _Huh,_ Clint thought. “Might,” he replied to the closed door.

* * *

Sam Wilson was seated in one of the guest rooms at the SHIELD facility - and thankfully at the other end of the hall from the one Clint and Steve had just fucked in.

Clint wished he had looked up whether he was being unofficially detained or had actually been brought into the fray. Not that it mattered - it wasn’t like Clint was in the room, or even in the SHIELD office, in an official capacity.

Lt. Wilson was reading a book and had one of his legs elevated, so at least he didn’t look too put out. “Lt. Wilson?” Clint asked.

“Hello,” he said. He set the book down and gave Clint a polite smile. _No wonder Steve picked him up,_ Clint thought.

“I’m Agent Barton,” he said. Wilson nodded, and Clint felt a little stab in his gut - sure, most of the time Steve had known him they’d been chasing after the Winter Soldier, but he figured that he was worth some kind of mention.

“Sam, please,” said Lt. Wilson.

“Clint, then,” Clint replied.

“Oh,” said Lt. Wilson. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. So you’re Clint.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, and he exhaled. “They told you that you could go, right?”

“Not until I sign a ton of nondisclosure agreements,” he replied.

“Yeah, they’re just going to offer you a job,” Clint replied. Lt. Wilson pressed his lips together. “It happens.”

“Huh,” he said. “I got a chair, it seems.” He waved his hand at the small chair in the room. Clint sat down - it was always awkward, where one person had the benefit of a little more knowledge about the other. “Are they doing OK? No one will tell me shit.”

“Welcome to SHIELD,” Clint replied.

“I’m guessing you’re not here in an official capacity, then?” Sam said. Clint shook his head.

“They’re OK,” he said, and he thought about how he had fucked Steve and the brief bruises he had left on his skin. “They’re both keeping busy - once they’re not busy, that’s when it’s going to...”

“I don’t really know too much,” Sam said. “Just that they both knew him before - well, I know he was in the Howling Commandos. Steve’s best friend. Made me think of some of the guys in my unit-”

“Steve’s best friend from Brooklyn,” Clint replied. “They’ve known each other since they were kids.”

“Shit,” said Sam.

Clint wasn’t sure why he felt the need to volunteer this, but he did. “I know what you mean, though.”

“Army?”

“Yeah. Rangers.” Sam nodded. “I was in Somalia, then Iraq - first time around.”

“Shocking and awing?” Sam asked.

“Something like that,” Clint replied. Both of them shook their heads. At least he got it too, Clint thought. It certainly wouldn’t hurt for Steve to have another friend who could really empathize.

They sat in silence for a long while, neither particularly sure what to say. Clint wanted him to tell him everything even though he could just listen to the recording they’d made of his debriefing. He wanted to be able to pick apart something in person that he could use, going forward. Some grenade he could lob right at the Winter Soldier and make sure that what they were left with was Bucky Barnes.

“He almost killed Natasha.” Sam said.

“Yeah, saw that,” Clint replied. “Heard you saved her life.” Sam shrugged, continued with what he wanted to say.

“Shot Steve in the gut, but that healed,” Sam replied. He shook his head. “I watched the Manchurian Candidate. Never thought it could be real.”

“Original, I hope,” Clint replied. Sam leveled his gaze at him, and Clint remembered Steve had mentioned he was some kind of counselor. “Sorry.”

“We didn’t get real close to him until the last altercation - that street fight was all over the place. Well, Steve got close to him, and I think he thought, then...but he didn’t want to say anything, you know.” Clint nodded - this was the kind of information he had hoped for. “Natasha made this sound, when we got the mask off...” He gave Clint a look - _you’re going to have your hands full, sir,_ it said. Clint sighed.

“You know, Steve didn’t say much,” Sam said - and oh, there was a part of Clint that wanted to demand to know every scrap of what Steve had said, “but it’s pretty clear you guys are really good for each other.”

“Oh, well,” Clint replied. “I appreciate that.”

* * *

“Agent Barton.” After talking with Sam Wilson he had decided against poking his head in on Natasha, Bruce, and Steve to see how things were going in the medical lab. They didn’t need another body packed into that small space - especially another useless body.

Instead, he went to the cafeteria in the D.C. office and got himself a cup of coffee. He had a feeling he was going to have to build up his caffeine tolerance because there were going to be a lot of long nights ahead.

“Dr. Kagan,” he said. “Has Dr. Liu planned out Act II? You know, I was always interested in getting into acting.”

“You know that, being a psychologist, I know what you’re trying to do with the whole glib and sarcastic thing, right?”

“Yes,” Clint replied.

“Good,” she said. “I’m Act II, actually. I don’t know when you’re scripted to come back in. She might want to use Fury.”

“The eye patch is more intimidating,” Clint said, and Dr. Kagan nodded.

“If you need anyone to talk with, though.” Clint scrunched his face, wondering who had been the one to tell her- “Sorry, it was just...pretty apparent, that’s all.”

“If you’re a psychologist,” Clint said. Not that he minded, or thought that Steve minded. The only people really likely to mind were all of those who were going to lose out in the SHIELD agent’s betting pool over which two Avengers would hook up first. On the other hand, whoever had taken the Clint and Captain America odds would probably feel quite pleased with themselves.

“Agent Barton-”

“I have a feeling you’ll have your hands full,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

“Come to bed,” Clint said to Steve. The psychologists had been with Bucky for eight hours. Then they had agreed to move him to headquarters in New York the next day. Sam was going to stay in D.C. for the time being - Clint wasn’t exactly happy with that, but he didn’t have a lot of room to negotiate, especially in that regard. He’d spent most of his currency arguing that Bucky should be in New York.

 _You’re not talking like an agent,_ Sitwell said, and he crossed his arms when Clint made the suggestion. Clint narrowed his eyes. Of course he was concerned with what Steve would do - stay in some single bed in D.C., go back to New York and worry about not being able to see Bucky. And of course he was thinking about what Natasha would do - and there were a lot more permutations there.

 _You’re not thinking about your assets,_ Clint replied. Sitwell nodded.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, and he got in and laid down next to Clint. He didn’t touch him, though, just laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. They still hadn’t let him in to see Bucky yet.

Clint rolled over on his side to get a better look at Steve. He had lost weight - he seemed to never eat right, but it was especially pronounced now. Someone usually had to prod him to do it, as though Steve didn’t really think he was worth all of the food that he had to consume. Clint put his hand at Steve’s jaw. Steve gave him a tense smile.

“I don’t know how many times I thought, you know, if only I had Bucky here,” Steve said. “Since I woke up, you know.”

 _I bet,_ Clint thought. He sighed.

“Not...it was never like that, with us,” Steve said. “For me. Definitely not for Bucky.” Clint was willing to bet there was a time when it had been like that for Steve - he had seen pictures of Bucky.

“I know,” Clint said - and how stupid was he being? Steve was trying to sort through a whole tangle of emotions, and Clint was pouting because Steve’s best friend was back and alive. Back, and alive, and was going to shiv all of them if he got the chance. Or worse.

Steve turned, then, and worked his way back so that he was pressed against Clint. He bent his legs slightly and Clint mirrored him. It wasn’t often that he played big spoon. He draped an arm over Steve and used his other hand to massage the back of his head - the hair was soft, and recently trimmed.

“I’ve never really had anyone like you,” Steve said. _Danger! Danger! Clinton Barton!_ Clint thought, because this was definitely the part that he was not good at. This was where his relationships always disintegrated, no matter what the catalyst was that brought out the expression of emotion. Clint kissed the back of Steve’s neck. The only thing he could do, he thought, was say how he felt and not be afraid of it - after all, he already knew what was the worst that could happen.

Funny how it was harder to say a few words than it was to jump off a hundred story building with nothing but a grappling arrow between you and being a splatter mark on the sidewalk.

“Me either,” he said. _Wasn’t so hard,_ he told himself, except he felt kind of nauseous. All of this could be traced back to his parents, of course, he’d been to enough SHIELD counseling sessions to know that. He could probably write the book on abandonment issues - parents, brother, circus, military. Two out of the four because he was gay.

“Clint?”

“Sorry, I just-”

“You don’t have to say anything. But you can if you want to,” Steve said. He yawned.

“You too,” Clint said.

He kissed the back of Steve’s neck again. He could feel the tension in his shoulders - there was something that he wanted to say, which was probably why he had made the comment. Clint kissed down, slowly, and then settled with a deeper kiss between his well defined shoulder blades.

“They’re not going to let me get...get too involved,” Steve said. “But maybe you...I want to make sure they do this right. That they take care of him.”

“I’ll do my best,” Clint said. “But I’m compromised too.”

“I know,” Steve said. “But you’ve got some leverage because of that, as well.” Clint smiled - this was why Steve was able to get people to follow him. He wasn’t just a stellar tactician, he understood people, and it was the kind of understanding you got from spending a long time watching people because you were an outsider.

They fell asleep like that, draped around each other, and Clint had never been able to do that before. Steve was sort of like having a big teddy bear, though. A big teddy bear with incomparable, gorgeous muscles and a really nice cock. So, not really the best choice in metaphors. He woke with his head on Steve’s chest and Steve’s arm lightly slung around him. Clint waited, listened to his breathing, and figured Steve was in a deep enough sleep that he wouldn’t disturb him if he got up.

He changed into the SHIELD sweats that were in the closet of the room and then walked down to the gym. Sitwell would be there this morning - he always jogged in the morning, but especially when stressed. Clint stretched out and watched him. Sitwell’s posture was more rigid than it tended to be and he definitely looked preoccupied. Clint felt bad about being a bastard to him the day before. He had lost a very good friend, as well. They couldn’t all cope in the same way. That would make things too easy.

Clint easily caught up with him. “Sitwell,” he said, and Sitwell turned, and sighed. “I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“Emotion was running high,” Sitwell replied. “You were just being protective.” Clint didn’t exactly like the choice of words, but he decided to ignore them for the time being.

“Yeah,” he said. “Not that they need it. Just...”

“I’m a little surprised,” Sitwell said, and he looked straight ahead as he said this, so Clint knew he was in for a bit of snide commentary. “I thought love was for children.”

Clint knew the context but he hadn’t been personally able to look at the footage. “She was a child then,” he replied. “I want to be on the helicopter when it leaves today.”

They jogged in silence for what felt like a minute, but was probably shorter. “Fine,” said Sitwell. “We could use someone who can serve as a back-up pilot in addition to providing some extra physical protection.”

Steve seemed pleased when Clint told him this over breakfast. “Natasha and I are going to take the Acela up,” he said. “I’ve never ridden in a train before.”

“You’ll like it,” Clint replied. Steve reached into Clint’s plate and jabbed at his waffle with his fork. Clint shook his head but allowed the incursion. “Very classy.”

* * *

Clint waited until Bucky was secured to strap into the helicopter. Two agents brought him in shackled on a stretcher. Clint was impressed when one of them got Bucky off without too much effort - then he realized from Bucky’s posture that they had managed to figure out how to sedate him. Probably something Bruce had managed. It hadn’t taken too long for him to figure out a Hulk formula and then build it into some arrows for Clint’s use - just in case.

“You remember Agent Barton from yesterday,” one of the agents said when they got Bucky into his seat across from Clint. They strapped in his one upper arm, and then his thighs, in addition to the manacles that remained on his legs and the wrap that was keeping his single arm close to his body.

Bucky muttered hello in Russia. Clint responded in kind. Each of the agents sat on either side of Bucky, and then Hill entered the helicopter and carefully strapped in next to Clint. He arched an eyebrow at her - he hadn’t expected that she would take the high risk travel option, given her priority clearance levels on the whole project. On all of SHIELD, really.

“Special Agent Maria Hill,” she replied. Bucky said something else in Russian that included a rather derogatory term for female genitalia.

“He said-” one of the agents began, but Hill shook her head sharply.

“I can imagine,” she said. “Still, we have a long flight ahead of us. It would do you some good to make it as pleasant as possible.”

“Pleasant for you,” Bucky said. “That is not the same as pleasant for me.”

“Well, we do aim to serve,” Clint said. “What were you hoping for - some Russian hard house music? Or were you hoping for some snacks, or something?”

“The funny one is always the one who goes first,” Bucky replied.

“Actually, it’s usually one of the generic slutty girls,” Clint said. Bucky blinked at him. “You’ve got a lot of to get caught up on.”

He didn’t talk much, after that, and Clint clicked around on his tablet and read through some intelligence reports on the Winter Soldier, trying to wrap his brain around the fact that it had been Bucky Barnes all along.

Bucky didn’t stir until they neared New York and he was able to see the city out of the window. He leaned over and his forehead furrowed slightly as he took in the shape of the islands, the skyline. Clint looked up and studied him, though he was careful to make it appear as though he was still focused on his tablet. Bucky’s eyes narrowed at the City and he forcefully exhaled. Then he turned and smiled at Clint.

“This is your home.”

“Don’t really have one,” Clint replied. Bucky curled his lip and then looked over at Maria, whose stare was cold and deadly.

“That’s too bad,” Bucky said.

Clint walked behind him when they arrived in New York, while Maria flanked him with one of their pilots. New York wasn’t just better because of geography - they now had secure detention facilities that could withstand Hulk level force, if Tony’s specs and Bruce’s test runs held. Clint hadn’t seen one yet and was surprised they’d manage to incorporate so much since it all had to be built into the walls - there was a bed with a built in mattress, a television mounted in the wall that was presumably voice controlled, a toilet and sink.

“Home sweet home,” Clint said, as Bucky entered. He grinned at Clint, and Clint grinned back.

* * *

“Everything went all right?” Steve asked, when Clint got upstairs to SHIELD headquarters proper.

“He was a little mouthy,” Clint said, “but that was the extent of it.”

“Oh,” said Steve, and he seemed pleased by this. “Bucky sort of was, that’s all.”

Clint wondered if he should tell Steve about how Bucky had looked at the New York skyline, how he had asked Clint the question about home - it was a tricky one. Steve would get angry if he revealed it later, but if he told him now, it would get his hopes up. Sure, they’d succeeded with Natasha, but the extent of brainwashing and psychological manipulation hadn’t been the same. Not to mention she hadn’t been cryogenically frozen and repeatedly defrosted as needed for assassinations.

“It’s going to take a long time, isn’t it?” Steve asked.

“Natasha was in the secured room for two weeks,” Clint said. “Then she got moved to another room downstairs - I don’t think she was in the barracks until after a month or so. I’m not entirely sure, though, I was in Ethiopia for awhile.”

“OK,” Steve said. “Well - you know the one psychologist?”

Clint wondered if he was suspicious, or just tired. “Yeah. Worked with her after Loki.”

“Oh,” Steve said, and there was some relief there, even though Clint had told him he had only ever been with a few women, and all of them when he was younger and he figured he just needed to meet the right person. “Well - she seemed nice.”

“They know what they’re doing,” Clint said.

“I know they’re not going to let me - you’ll keep an eye on him, right?” Steve asked.

“I told you I would,” Clint replied, and Steve looked a little hurt, as though the comment was dismissive. Clint leaned in and kissed him, light at first and then with more force. Steve wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. He sighed.

“I want to get home and sleep,” he said. Clint nodded. “You’re going to come, right?”

“I am,” Clint replied. “I’ll just need to pick a few things up from my room.”

Steve looked confused and a little taken aback when Clint exited the elevator at SHIELD with Natasha. She had intercepted him in the hallway and touched the back of his shoulder to get his attention. “Are you going back to the Tower?”

“Steve and I are,” he said.

“I think I’m going to go too,” she said. “I would like to be around people.”

“That’s understandable,” Clint said.

To Steve, who took her bag without even saying anything, she said, “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and he glanced at Clint - making him wonder if this was some ploy by Natasha to make sure he stayed at the Tower with Steve. As if he would just fuck off and go back to his own room under these circumstances. “You want to walk?” Natasha nodded.

They got a block before she started talking. “I was the youngest in our division,” she said. “There were a lot of people interested...” Clint kept his gaze ahead. He had known Natasha for years and she had never said anything about this time in her life - Steve had known her for a few months. It was stupid to feel jealous about it, or whatever it was he felt about it, but it was still there.

 _This is going to fucking complicate so much,_ Clint thought.

“But Alyosha - he said he was Alexei - he acted like I was a person, not just some cut of meat. He still wanted...but it was like I was a girl and he was a boy, not that we were both in this system, this division of Russian Intelligence. Like we belonged to each other.” Clint looked over at Steve - he had a faraway glance in his eyes and they were beginning to fill with tears again. Clint reached over and took his hand. “It was hard not to...go to bed with him.” _Fall in love with him,_ Clint substituted. She didn’t need to save it. Love really was for children, apparently.

“He protected me,” she said. “And then he came, one day, to my room and said he would be sent out on an important mission. I was happy for him. After he left, though, when I asked about him, they said that he had never been in the Division. And so another girl, Katya, she said - they trained him, they sent him out as the Winter Soldier. They always go to their death.” Natasha swallowed. “She gloated about this, of course. It was really fucked up, there.”

“Sounds it,” Steve said. “But, if he was like that, maybe...”

“I don’t know,” Natasha said. “I don’t know your Bucky.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the walk. “Do you want to sleep, or should we order something to eat in two or three hours?” Clint asked, at the door to her apartment in the Tower.

“Sleep,” she said. “But if you order, get me something.” Clint nodded.

Steve cocked his head when they entered his room. “You can just order for her?”

“Natasha usually gets the same thing,” Clint replied. He wanted to curl into Steve and hold him - he could tell that Steve was tightly wound and was going to have to uncoil at some point. He was either going to punch a hole in the wall or crumple and break down. Clint glanced around the room. He doubted any of the walls were load bearing.

“Well, I guess that’s convenient,” Steve said. He glared at Clint and then sighed. Then he walked back into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed.

“Steve?” Clint asked.

“Come and sleep with me,” Steve said.

Clint gave him a slight smile and nodded. They laid together for about two, three minutes before Steve turned and kissed him hard on the mouth. Clint sighed - he had been hoping for this. He put a hand on Steve’s waist and pushed their groins together.

“Yeah?” Steve said, and Clint rolled his hips again. Steve tugged Clint’s shirt off and then shucked his own.

“Jesus, Steve,” Clint said, as he undid the button on Clint’s pants and tugged them down along with his boxer briefs.

“This still makes sense,” Steve muttered into the skin by his hipbone. “How I feel about you still makes sense.”

He kissed at the skin around Clint’s cock and sucked and bit. Clint ran his fingers into Steve’s hair and nudged him so that he was looking up at him. “Steve...” He wasn’t sure how to articulate what he wanted, how he felt - the past few times they’d fucked, they’d definitely fucked, and he missed how it had been. Still, if this was what Steve needed. “God, I want you.”

Steve smiled at him. It was a sweet, genuine smile - the one that had made Clint’s stomach sink when they had first gone out and got coffee together. “I want you in me,” Steve said, and then he licked a strip up Clint’s cock. Clint moaned as Steve teased his tongue around the head, let it dance around all of the most sensitive spots. Steve had him mapped precisely, and when he took Clint’s whole cock down Clint shuddered.

He thrust into Steve’s mouth, gentle, and tangled his fingers in Steve’s hair. Steve was going slow, those soft lips wrapped around him and humming just slightly. It was pulling Clint up slowly and carefully, and Steve only stopped when Clint nudged him up against with his hands.

Clint kissed Steve’s mouth hard and jammed his tongue in. “So perfect,” he said to Steve. He rolled him over so he was on his side and Steve draped a leg over Clint to give him better access. Clint took his time and plied Steve open, stretched him and grazed his prostate with his fingers.

“Fuck, more,” Steve said, and Clint spread his three fingers wide and worked them around so that Steve was squirming around him. His cock was right near Clint’s and Steve reached forward and grasped them together. “Clint, more-”

Clint arranged Steve on his back and shoved one of the pillow shams under him. Steve’s legs wrapped around his waist and Clint sunk in - one easy, smooth motion, and he sighed at how Steve felt. Soft, welcoming, gorgeous. Looking at him was even better, his mouth was opening and closing and his adams apple was bobbing. Then Steve tightened his legs around Clint and pulled him forward.

His moan was loud and clear, and so Clint slowed his thrusts to really emphasize where he was hitting him. Steve pulled him in further, so that Steve was practically bent in half. Clint kissed him, then sucked at his neck and collarbone. Steve was just making noises them, soft and inarticulate in between deep moans.

“So good, Steve, you’re so fucking perfect-”

“Damnit, fuck me, Clint,” Steve said, jaw clenched, and so Clint rammed into him, pulled himself all the way out, and then thrust in again. “Yeah, like that, please, Clint, please, I want...yes!” Steve came across his stomach, and Clint was gentle with his remaining thrusts until he came in Steve as well.

Steve’s legs dropped and he sprawled beneath him, face blissful and fucked out.

 _OK,_ Clint thought, as he lay next to Steve. _At least I can guarantee I can do this for you. I can do this right._


	7. Chapter 7

They kept all three of them out of the loop for four days. “Typical,” Natasha said on the second day, and then disappeared. “Call me when they psychologists deign to get us involved.”

Steve paced, Steve sketched, Steve broke a lot of gym equipment, and Steve fucked Clint and Clint fucked Steve. Clint knew it was just a temporary release for everything that Steve was trying to deal with, but he couldn’t help but think about how they used to talk as well. They had talked through a lot, actually, talked more than Clint had talked with Coulson and Natasha about things.

When Clint made them dinner in the kitchen, stewing on it - he was so fucking good with puns! - Tony walked in. Clint let him watch him for a few minutes. Tony had pulled the Winter Soldier’s arm apart and put it back together several times. He had already come up with six different ways he could improve it. Though for the time period it was built it was, apparently, quite impressive - Tony called it scrap metal, so that was how Clint translated it.

“He’s still kinda a kid, you know,” Tony said.

“That’s nice,” Clint said. “Nothing really helps my libido like being called a pedo.”

“No, I mean,” Tony said as he pulled himself up and sat on the counter, “he’s had to deal with a lot but...not a lot, a lot, you know? He coped for awhile, but this is just...”

“Best friend’s back from the dead,” Clint said. “Should be a happy day.”

“Steve prides himself on how he can lead,” Tony said. “There’s a reason they all kept calling him Captain America. Why we listened to him - but now he’s got proof, left his best man behind.” Clint sometimes wished Tony would share these insights about people more regularly. But then he wouldn’t be the grumpy, exacerbated asshole they all knew and loved.

“You’re giving me life advice?” Clint asked. “Relationship advice?”

“I am in a stable and successful relationship that has been going on for a year and a half now,” Tony said, and he pointed a finger at him for emphasis. Clint handed him a spoon with some curry on it.

“OK,” Clint said.

“This is the part where I’m supposed to say, you know, you can whether this kind of shit, you can weather anything,” Tony said.

“You’re not confident?”

“Naw, you two kids have a good thing,” Tony said. He grinned at him. “I mean, look, you make dinner.”

“Sort of,” Clint said. He put the curry on a plate - he’d learned a few things from Bruce, but still nothing close to what Bruce could cook up without any effort at all. “Thanks.”

Steve was seated at the table in his room with his computer. He’d been pouring over all of the SHIELD intelligence for the Winter Soldier during the time he didn’t have anything else to occupy himself with. He must have read it three, four times - a little bit of overkill for someone with eidetic memory. “Dinner,” Clint said, and set both plates down on the table. “Steve.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he said. He smiled at Clint, then drew his lip out to the side slightly. “Are they...is this some psychological experiment with us, too?”

“This is the part you don’t want to be around for,” Clint said. “So I hear.”

“You brought Natasha in and just left her?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “But it wasn’t like we were...and I trusted them - their experience. Dr. Kagan wasn’t with them yet, but she’s good too.”

“Thought you hated psychologists, therapists...” Steve said.

“I only got to talk to her a few times, after Loki,” Clint said. “Then when it was clear that I wasn’t technically brainwashed, they shuttled me off to some other people.” Steve sighed. Clint sighed.

Clint and Steve’s phones rang.

* * *

Clint didn’t have to call Natasha, since they already called her. The three of them stood outside of the secured unit, where they could see Bucky but he couldn’t see them. He looked marginally better than last time - someone had hosed him off, at least, and the dark circles under his eyes looked less like pits. Still, Steve frowned.

“I think you should talk to him,” Dr. Liu said to Natasha. “He knows you more recently.”

“Talk about what?” Natasha asked. She was wearing tight jeans and a tank top - she’d probably been out looking for someone and had spent the past three days in a very nice hotel somewhere in the city eating room service.

“Whatever you would like,” said Dr. Liu. “Your time together.” Natasha narrowed her eyes at her, then nodded.

Clint and Steve moved closer to the door so they would be able to watch and hear the conversation. Bucky glanced up from the bed as Natasha stood in front of him. She met his eyes, then took a seat on the bench built into the wall. “Hello, Alyosha,” she said in Russian.

Bucky replied in Russian - Clint caught a few key words, red and girl. He shook his head at Steve. “I’m not that good at it.”

“He said, ah yes, pretty little red headed girl,” Dr. Kagan said, standing behind them.

Natasha leaned in, murmured something that Dr. Kagan didn’t seem to catch, but it made Bucky relax a bit. Clint wondered what the endgame was here, what gambit they were taking. He didn’t like it. He felt a little nauseous.

“They are out there, watching us,” Bucky said, in English. “This is not some social visit.”

“Of course,” Natasha said.

“You changed sides,” Bucky said. His gaze slid over to the door. He reminded Clint of a caged reptile. Something that people were stupid enough to keep in their house until it bit them.

“I bet on a different horse to win,” Natasha said. Clint tried to figure out what she was thinking - she was missing the usual steely reserve in her eyes.

“Different horse, or better horse?” Bucky said something else in Russian, slow and lilting, and Kagan shook her head. Natasha leaned forward slightly and replied in kind.

“Traitor,” Bucky said. “All because you found someone better to fuck your gash.” His lip curled up at this. Clint closed his eyes - so this was the plan, he thought.

Steve shoved the door to the room with his shoulder and Clint heard the clicking sounds as the SHIELD agents serving as guards unlocked their guns and pointed them at the now revealed exit. “That is no way to talk to a dame!”

He got right in Bucky’s face and said it again, like he was Bucky’s mom or something. Natasha drew back into the bench, brow furrowed - she got it, too. Steve was the only one who was still playing along. “Fuck, Bucky!” Steve said.

The predatory face melted into something soft, and Bucky looked like a little kid - looked like Bucky. His eyes went wide. “Steve?”

Steve’s mouth opened slightly, and Clint gripped his gun even tighter. He was tempted to aim it at Liu - she was in the corner with a sort of smug smile.

“Yeah,” Steve said. The two of them looked at each other, and for a brief moment, Clint had to wonder if maybe they had fucked once or twice. “Hey.”

“Where..?”

“It’s going to be OK,” Steve said, and he reached for Bucky. This was when Clint really wanted to close his eyes but he knew he couldn’t. Instead, he grabbed his own firearm and nodded at Natasha because they both knew what was about to happen.

Bucky immediately switched back, evidenced by the narrowed reptilian slits of eyes, and he kicked Steve down and then was immediately on top of him. His one arm reached down and he was going for Steve’s eye with his thumb, and he was grinning.

Clint darted and got in behind him and put Bucky into a choke hold, while Natasha took her gun and pointed it at Bucky’s head. Clint looked down at Steve. His eyes were wide and confused and also angry.

Clint and Natasha guided Bucky back to the bed with guns pointed at his head. Clint nodded at Steve, and he quickly pulled himself up and walked out of the room. Then Clint and Natasha backed their way out and Natasha kicked the door shut behind her. Clint turned, trying to act like it wasn’t planned at all, and pointed his gun at Liu for a moment before he tucked it back into his pocket.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he said.

“That was him,” Steve said, to no one in particular. Clint glanced over at Natasha, and she nodded. He moved closer to Steve. “It was Bucky - I saw-”

“I know,” Clint said.

“It was our first breakthrough,” Dr. Liu said.

“We are not pawns here,” Natasha said, except she was looking sideways over at Steve. Natasha had been a pawn enough - hell, she’d been a queen, a bishop, a knight - that it really didn’t bother her.

“It was necessary-”

“Does this mean you can make him better?” Steve asked, eyes still wide as he looked at Dr. Liu. Clint wanted to kick him and he also wanted to kick the doctor, because Steve seemed to still trust her despite how she had used him.

“It is a good sign,” said Dr. Liu. “We have been chipping away at-”

“Steve,” Clint interrupted, hoping to ground him.

“You don’t believe them?” Steve asked, turning towards him. _That’s not the issue,_ Clint thought, _and besides, I just saved you from having your eye popped out._

“I do,” said Clint. “I just don’t appreciate-”

“Was this necessary?” Steve asked.

“I believe so,” said Dr. Liu.

“Dr. Kagan?” Clint asked, but she shook her head imperceptibly. _Right,_ he thought, _just me and Natasha verse a huge group of trained psychologists. Two assassins, two brainwashing victims..._ He sighed. “Are you going to do any more this evening? Because we have dinner.”

“And vodka,” Natasha said, primarily under her breath. Clint nodded.

Steve took a step back so that he could glance into Bucky’s containment cell. Bucky had his head in his hands so that his face was hidden, and Steve cocked his head slightly. Bucky somehow knew that he was there, and when he looked up his eyes reminded Clint a lot of Loki’s and his smile was just as sinister. Then he put his head back in his hands.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Steve said. He looked over at Clint and Natasha, and then at the psychologists.

Steve didn’t speak to Clint until they were back in Steve’s room and Clint gathered their plates to put in the microwaves. “You don’t need to protect me.”

“Do we actually know if your eye would grow back?” Clint asked. He remembered Steve saying Bucky had hit him once in his junk for scientific purposes, but no one had ever cut anything off of Steve, had they?

“Not that. I appreciate that. But the two of you were acting like - like I couldn’t handle that this was going to take time, or-”

“I didn’t like that they brought us down there to use you and Natasha like that,” Clint replied. “They acted like you were going to have some conversation, not be the catalyst for-”

“That doesn’t bother me,” Steve said. “If I had known, it never would have worked, would it?”

Clint narrowed his eyes at Steve, and realized that he didn’t really know what to say to that - and that this didn’t necessarily make him wrong. He inhaled, and exhaled, and he thought of what Tony Stark said. Strangely, this seemed to be calming. He decided he should probably interrogate that later. Now, he decided he was going to put his crappy curry in the microwave, hand the bowl to Steve, and then silently eat it with him.

When they were done, Steve gathered the dishes and cleaned them in the sink despite the fact that there was a dishwasher in the main kitchen. “You want to watch a movie or something?” Clint asked, and instantly felt desperate.

“I’m going to go to the gym,” Steve said, and then his face softened. “If that’s OK.”

“Absolutely,” Clint said.

He sat back at the table for a moment - Natasha had gone back to the hotel she had holed up in, and that didn’t leave him with too many options. He debated for a moment, almost tossed a coin, and then decided he might as well try and accomplish something.

“Dr. Banner, is it OK if I come in?” he asked into the comm outside of Bruce’s lab.

“Yeah, absolutely, sure,” came the reply, and the door to the lab silently opened. It took Clint a few minutes to find Bruce. His lab was a lot better organized than Tony’s, but there were a lot of large machines interspersed with marker boards on rollers - which made it a bit of a maze. “Over here,” Bruce said.

“Oh, thank God,” Clint said when he caught the whiff of marijuana.

“Need some?” Bruce asked. He was rolling a second joint, and quickly finished it and passed it over to Clint.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “is it safe to smoke in here?”

“Nothing’s on,” Bruce said. “And the blood samples are all in there.” He nodded over to a glass enclosed room that looked more like a biological lab.

Clint described the past couple hours while he smoked the joint. Bruce rolled himself another one while Clint talked, and he merely nodded and occasionally made a sound that indicated that he was listening. When Clint was finally done he felt a little bit better - both for talking to Bruce without interruption and for the joint.

“That doesn’t strike me as exactly ethical,” Bruce said. “But then again, it’s SHIELD.” Clint nodded. Bruce passed him a Coke.

“You have everything here you could ever need,” Clint said. “I’m just...”

“Steve isn’t mad at you,” Bruce said. “He’s mad at the situation and he can’t get mad at the psychologists because he has to - you know all that, though. Still doesn’t take the sting off.” Clint nodded, glad that someone was able to put it so succinctly so that they didn’t have to dwell on it.

“I wanted to ask you about the-” Clint nodded over at the biology lab. “Blooood,” he finished, in his best vampire voice.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Still working it out - there are certain similarities, but not in the...in the outcome, let’s say, but the initial building block of the serum is the same. Just how it interacted. Plus Bucky has at least four different serums in him - Zola’s original, and then three more than I can date at maybe 1955, 1975, and 1990. Maybe.”

“But he’s not Steve.”

“He’s not Steve, and he’s not me - even with four injections, none of them are not...good? And there wasn’t any radiation or catalytic agent, either. He’s aging’s definitely slowed, but it’s hard to tell with the fact he was cryonically frozen too. Enhanced speed, strength, and healing...I mean, maybe two, three times yours but not Steve’s level.”

“Good to know,” Clint said.

“He won’t be a match for Steve without that bionic arm - that’s something completely different,” Bruce said.

“Tony said it was scrap metal,” Clint replied.

“Yeah, and Tony will tell you that JARVIS is just a computer,” Bruce said.

Clint cracked open his soda can and nodded.


	8. Chapter 8

“You’re doing the right thing, you know,” Natasha said. They were on her balcony, both of them with open bottles of vodka and Snapple Iced Teas. They had a rare packet of cigarettes. It was like being in Bangkok, or Vladivostock, even Pretoria. Clint really liked the idea that he was going to taste like vodka and ash and artificial flavors when - if - Steve got back.

“Well,” said Clint. “Wasn’t my choice.”

“You’re not getting pissy about it, either.” Natasha took a long drag then flicked the cigarette into the night sky.

“I’m not a sixteen year-old girl.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Did you think it would be easy?”

“I didn’t factor this in, Tash.” How could he? Bucky Barnes, back from the dead - Steve had known him for a hell of a lot longer than he had Clint, and had a lot more invested in him. Clint really didn’t have the right to make any demands. Even Natasha wasn’t in a position to make any demands - which was why she was smoking on the balcony and drinking vodka and Snapple.

“Well,” Natasha said. “No one factored in an alien invasion led by a man with some serious daddy issues.”

“Blatant daddy issues,” Clint said. “That’s what Freud says, right, with phallic imagery?”

Natasha nodded. “You’ll do fine,” she said.

“I’m not worried about it,” Clint said. He was a little worried about it, because he was pretty sure that Bucky needed a lot more than a week and a half of therapy before he could be released into the wild. Well, the general zoo population. They were under orders to keep him in the Tower, and Tony had put a program into the arm that would ensure it. Clint really liked the image of Bucky as a dog faced with an electric fence.

There was no way that any of this was going to go well.

“Mind if I join you?”

They both glanced up and saw Steve, hanging halfway out the window near the balconey.

“C’mon out,” Clint said, and stubbed out the cigarette that he had been smoking. Steve sat next to Clint and gave a smile to Natasha. She handed him her bottle of Snapple and vodka.

“Uh,” he said.

“Vodka,” Natasha replied.

“I should have known,” said Steve. _Christ_ , Clint thought, _it’s like we’ve broke up._

Steve kicked his legs, slightly, and he looked like a kid - unsure, unsteady, but leaning towards some degree of confidence that he had done the right thing. “He remembers a lot,” Steve said. What he meant, Clint knew, was that Bucky remembered enough that they were confident saying he was Bucky again. Clint was reserving judgment. The guy wasn’t the Winter Soldier for nothing, and what he’d read about Bucky and what Steve had told him suggested that he wasn’t stupid.

“That’s good,” said Natasha. “Stark will be putting his arm on first thing. There’s a security device in it.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “That’s a good idea - but...well, he’s a little touchy about it. About missing an arm.” _Good word choice_ , Clint thought, then, _shit. I am drunk_. “I want to thank you guys for agreeing...”

“Where else were we going to put him?” Clint asked. He didn’t mean to sound snarky, but it came out that way, so he reached over and put a hand on Steve’s thigh and squeezed. “Tower full of super heroes, whatever they’re calling us, we’re in the best position to handle things.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

They sat and talked for awhile - Steve was reluctant to give too many details on the things he’d observed and the conversations he’d had with Bucky, but Clint was able to get a sketchy summary. Bucky knew he was Bucky, but he was suffering from depression, PTSD, mood swings, and generally not coping well with what had happened to him. That was fair enough. Sometimes Clint couldn’t cope with what he had gone through, which was nothing compared to that. No, Clint Barton was a selfish bastard, and he was just worried about Steve. Well, about he and Steve.

Natasha sensed this, because she was awesome. “I need to put myself to bed,” she said. “Get a good night’s sleep before tomorrow.” Clint nodded at this, then swallowed hard.

“Look-” he began, but Steve shook his head.

“I’ve been...I needed to just focus on Bucky, you know? Because I think I might have gone crazy otherwise.” Clint nodded - not that he understood it, exactly, but he tried to frame it like sniper focus. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Clint said, hoping that Steve understood that he wasn’t saying you don’t have to be sorry. “Just...the Bucky you know? I never met him. All I have to go by is what turns up tomorrow.”

Steve nodded. “It’s not going to easy, but I think...I think he’ll come back. I mean, I know he’ll be different. You can’t go through all that shit and not. But. I have to hope.”

“I know,” Clint said, and he wrapped an arm around Steve. Then he put his head in Steve’s shoulder and slouched into him a little bit. Steve ran his fingers through Clint’s hair, sort of petting him. “I’m pretty drunk too,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve replied. “But I can put you to bed, yeah?”

“Sure,” Clint said.

Steve curled around Clint after they changed into their pajamas - well, pajamas for Steve and a clean pair of boxer briefs for Clint. He held him tight, and Clint usually couldn’t sleep with someone on him like a starfish, but this time it worked. Or maybe it was the vodka.

* * *

Bucky came in with Sitwell and two other SHIELD agents in tow. Steve had stayed at the Tower, and he stood in the middle of the group - the Avengers, minus Thor. Clint wondered how things in Asgard were going. He hoped they’d stapled Loki’s balls to something.

They’d cleaned Bucky up, at least, cut his hair. He looked like a legitimate human being, though beaten down. He was shrunken into himself, it seemed, to hide the lack of arm. The sleeve from his long sleeve shirt dangled by his side.

“These are the living quarters of Stark Tower, which is where you’ll be restricted to,” Sitwell said. “There’s a gym for your use. Everything you could want.” Bucky nodded. The circles under his eyes were still dark and purple. It looked like he had a black eye. Clint felt bad for hoping Steve had done it.

“You know Captain Rogers, and Agent Romanov,” Sitwell said. Clint rolled his eyes at the formality - they were taking Bucky on as a new roommate. It was like the fucking Real World, not like they were getting a new colleague. “You met Agent Barton once.”

“Sure,” said Bucky.

“Dr. Bruce Banner and Tony Stark, who you discussed today’s operation with.” Bucky nodded. “Which, speaking of, it’s probably best if we head down to the lab and have that taken care of.”

“I’ll come along,” Steve said, as Tony moved to join with the SHIELD group.

Bucky gave him a smile, and it changed his face dramatically. “Thanks,” he said.

Clint made a huffing sound, and was embarrassed when he realized it was loud enough that Steve probably heard him. He waited until the door was closed to talk to Natasha. “I can’t be entirely sure they never fucked,” he said.

“Christ,” said Bruce, and they both turned to him since it was rare for him to invoke religious words. “He’s going to try to smother us all in our in sleep.”

“Hopefully he goes for you first,” Clint said. Bruce opened his mouth slightly, for some reason not considering what would happen - and that was good, Clint thought, really good, because in this moment he was able to be just Bruce Banner for the first time since Clint had met him. 

Unfortunately, they were going to have to explain it to him. “He’ll be rudely awakened,” Natasha said.

“Ah,” said Bruce. Then, “yes.”

* * *

“How did it go?” Clint asked. Steve had dinner with Bucky down in the lab, where Bucky was still recuperating, then come up to Steve’s room where Clint was waiting.

“It’s attached,” Steve said. “The interface isn’t one hundred per cent, Tony’s got to work out some kinks - apparently whatever the Ruskies installed was good, but not compatible with Tony’s, so he had to redo something. I, uh, really didn’t know what he was talking about.” Steve rubbed his hair.

“Good,” Clint said, and met Steve’s eyes. Fuck’s sake, Barton, he thought, you’re almost forty years old. Stop acting like a teenager. He supposed he could have said something, like I missed you, but instead Clint stood up, walked over to Steve, and kissed him hard and fast. He grabbed the back of Steve’s hair and jerked him, slightly, and had to grin at the moan that he got out of Steve. “Fuck, yes, Clint,” Steve said.

Steve was pliant and bent to all of Clint’s non-verbal suggestions and let Clint man handle and maneuver him. Clint stroked him, kissed him, and then sucked him dry. Then he fucked him on his back, bending Steve nearly in half so he could get at his mouth and kiss him as he thrust. Steve came in the space between he and Clint before Clint did for the first time - it made Clint proud of himself, and it was all it took for him to come deep inside Steve.

Steve rolled his head to the side with his mouth open and moaned. “Clint,” he said, finally, and Clint grinned at him. “Holy fuck.”

“Sort of,” Clint said, and nuzzled into Steve’s neck and kissed him there.

“You know,” Steve said, “I could do that, sometime, instead of wailing on a punching bag.”

“You could,” Clint said. “That’s part of what I’m here for.”

* * *

He sat down with Bucky for lunch that afternoon, after the psychologists had been in and out. Steve made sandwiches, nothing too fancy, and Clint wandered in just as he finished. “Aren’t you domestic?” Bucky asked, and seemed not to be aware of Clint. The metal arm was affixed to his chest like you might strap down a broken arm or clavicle - it probably would be a pain in the ass to have dangling there, useless.

“Well, no one else is going to do it,” Steve said. It sounded like an old argument between them, so that was a good thing. “Hey, Clint.”

Bucky looked up at him and cocked his head, clearly appraising Clint. “Hello,” he said, finally, and held out his good hand. Clint shook it then sat down next to him.

“You train this morning?” Steve asked.

“Archery range,” Clint replied. “Then sparred.” With Natasha, but he didn’t say that, because it was up to her how she wanted to handle this thing between her and Bucky - whatever it was. Or, hell, it might not even be with Bucky. Clint wasn’t entirely sure how the whole thing worked, if you treated it like some kind of Dissociative Identity Disorder or just a personality shift. He’d certainly been himself, under the influence of Loki’s staff, just with a compulsion to serve the bastard.

Natasha had kept away since the evening when Bucky had gone after Steve - she said she wanted to leave him to Steve, so that things weren’t complicated. Kagan had agreed, which seemed to override Liu’s approach. He doesn’t need to try and toggle through two different time periods, two different... Clint guessed from her trailing off that they weren’t really sure what to call it, either. No one had ever presented like Bucky before. Too bad the whole thing was classified. They could get a bitching academic paper out of it.

“That’s good,” Steve said. “We can go to the gym, if you want.”

Bucky looked at him as Steve put the plate of mixed cold cut sandwiches on the table. Clint saw a hint of disdain there and pressed his lips together. “You don’t have to do everything with me.” He tried to say it in as plain a voice as possible, but Steve’s brow furrowed.

“I thought you would be more comfortable. Getting used to it here.”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “Because I was going to say, I know you’ve got this thing wired - what’s it going to do, shock me if I decide I want to take a walk?”

“No,” said Steve.

“Probably something better,” said Clint, and he arched an eyebrow quickly before Steve could catch him. He couldn’t help himself - and, besides, real Bucky would be on his side. It sounded like he had beat up a lot of people when Steve got himself into jams.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the upgrade,” Bucky said. “If it works. Did they scrap the old one?”

“I believe so,” Steve said, but they all knew that was a lie. It was in the bowels of SHIELD somewhere, since Tony and Bruce had already sent in their assessment on it.

“Well that’s great,” Bucky said, glancing down at the arm.

“You know Tony built, like, forty Iron Man suits, right?” Clint asked. “Pretty sure he figured out how to make your arm work.”

“Aren’t you a big ball of sunshine?” Bucky asked. Steve cocked his head at Clint, then at Bucky.

“Great,” said Clint, to show he was dropping out of the Who is The Biggest Asshole at This Table Competition - he was going to have to make sure Tony was around, later, total ringer right there. “Now two of you are going to be talking in anachronisms.”

“At least one person will understand me,” Steve said, voice pleasant. Bucky seemed pleased by this comment, and it raised Clint’s hackles - almost in an animalistic way, like he wanted to piss on Steve and claim him as his own. And he wasn’t into water sports.

“Still,” Clint said, “you need to keep acclimating - everyone will figure you out in that class...”

“Class?” Bucky asked.

“Oh,” Steve said. “I’m going to take some classes at Columbia.”

“College classes?” Steve nodded. “Since when were you big on book learning?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Figured it would be a good way to...meet some new people, learn some things, I mean-”

“They know you don’t have a high school diploma, right?” Steve winced at this.

“Pretty sure SHIELD can make him one up,” Clint said. “We’ve got a whole fabrication department.”

“Seems like quite the enterprise,” Bucky said. He finished his first sandwich and leaned back. Then he looked between the two of them and something crossed his face, like he was unsettled or something.

Clint met his eyes, and he knew - _Steve Rogers, you dumbass_ , he thought. Steve had said Bucky knew, but Bucky had known in the sense that he had caught him in an alley once, given him a look, and walked away. Steve and Bucky hadn’t talked about it. Bucky had never told him that it was OK.

And Steve had not mentioned to Bucky that he was currently with, currently fucking, currently enthusiastically getting fucked by, the guy at the table with them.

 _Fuck my life,_ Clint thought, and he inhaled. “I’ve got a meeting,” he said. “Thanks for letting me drop in your lunch.”

“Any time,” Steve said, and smiled at him, but his smile faded slightly when Clint just got up and walked out.

Clint fiddled with his phone - he debated calling Natasha, because she was the person who would best handle it. Usually, he would call Coulson, but...damnit, he thought, Phil would know exactly what to do. Fuck, Phil would sit Barnes down and make him watch Brokeback Mountain on repeat Clockwork Orange style until he stopped being a shit. Or something.

Natasha had enough on her plate, though. This left him with two options. He sighed.

“Hey,” he said, and Tony startled - though Clint was pretty sure JARVIS let him know he was coming, JARVIS always let him know.

“Yes, Barton?” Tony asked.

“What do you know about Barnes?”

“You know, I’m surprised it took you this long,” Tony said. He sat down on a stool and nodded towards another one. Clint sat and kicked his legs a little bit - he couldn’t be trusted with anything with wheels. He shifted back and forth over the whole conversation. “Not that much, really. Same stuff you know, I’m sure. Couple of stories about Howard and Bucky getting into...fights, or hijinks because they both went after the same woman. But Howard didn’t talk about him that much. He wasn’t Steve.”

“I think he, uh...” Clint chewed his cheek slightly. “Might not exactly be, uh, OK with the whole gay thing.”

“I thought he knew,” Tony said.

“Yeah, well,” Clint said, and related the anecdote he knew. “But that’s it, and I saw - he gave us this look, at lunch, and Steve hasn’t told him, but I think he got an inkling...”

“Steve hasn’t told him he’s been dating someone for what...what has it been?”

“Three, four months,” Clint said.

“Maybe Steve would tell his best friend about this if you moved into the Tower.”

“Fucking hell,” Clint said, and kicked himself backwards from Tony.

Tony shrugged. “Just a suggestion. Look - if he hasn’t, that’s dumb. Want me to find out?”

“We are actually in high school, aren’t we?” Clint asked.

“We’re always in high school,” Tony replied, “or at least I can assume so, from what popular media has taught me about high school - I didn’t exactly have a typical experience.”

“I actually didn’t either,” Clint said. “I can do-”

“Yeah, and how is Steve going to take that - there is a benefit to being group asshole, Barton. Let me use my powers for good for once.” Tony grinned at him, but Clint could tell that it wasn’t totally a joke.

“OK,” he agreed.

He was not surprised when, that evening, Tony brought him a beer and confirmed that Steve had yet to inform Bucky that he was with Clint - and that Steve had completely punted the answer. “He’s not ashamed of you,” Tony said.

“I know that,” Clint replied, and slid down into the living room couch.

“He probably senses...he said he was waiting for the right moment, and right now they had to focus on Bucky because of his recovery, blah, blah, blah. Didn’t think Cap could be such a pussy.”

Clint narrowed his eyes. Tony held his hands out, palms forward.

“Better get something stronger than this,” Clint said.


End file.
